


Three Wishes

by HeyAssbuttImBatman



Series: Supernaturally Magical Disney AUs [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: ?? - Freeform, Aladdin AU, Attempted Murder, Azazel is evil, Chuck Is Done With Everyone's Shit, Dean Lies, Deception, Deserts, Gabriel is a Genie, How Do I Tag Writing Is Hard, I Don't Even Know, Lies, Lies and Deception, M/M, Magic Bullshit, Palaces, Secret Plots, The Carpet Is Done With Everyone's Shit, all in a day's work for a winchester, castiel as jasmine, dean as aladdin, gabriel and the carpet are best friends, i dont even care at this point, lilith is a bird lol, marketplaces, oasises?, there are lots of oases, there are palaces, whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-12 12:31:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7934662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyAssbuttImBatman/pseuds/HeyAssbuttImBatman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam Winchester are street rats, and that's all they'll ever be. At least, that's what everyone thinks until they discover a secret plot to overthrow their government, which leads to the discovery of a snarky genie, and then before they know it, they're pretending to be princes. And Dean may or may not be crushing hard on the son of the sultan. Maybe. </p><p>Oh, boy.</p><p>AKA That Supernatural Aladdin AU Nobody Asked For</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Wishes

**Author's Note:**

> This was a lot of fun to write, and I hope you guys love it as much as I do.

“You’re only in trouble if you get caught,” Dean says, and Sam sighs, but follows him onto the roof anyway. They’ve been doing this their whole lives, with “this” being stealing to survive. It started when, after their mother died, their father spent all his money on alcohol and left none for his kids to buy food, and it continued even after his death because the Winchester brothers didn’t have enough education to get jobs.

They’re pros at this now, so it’s no challenge for Dean to carefully lower himself onto the rickety wooden roof of a fruit vendor’s stall. Sam waits until he’s in position, and then picks up the heavy clay pot he and Dean stole yesterday. With one well-aimed throw, he lobs it across the street, and it lands with a deafening crash on the stall of a jewelry seller. The tiny wooden structure crashes to the ground, taking all of the vendor’s wares with it.

All the other vendors and the people who were out shopping move closer under the pretense of helping, no doubt hoping to snatch a gold necklace or a few gems without anyone noticing. While everyone is distracted, Dean carefully reaches into the fruit vendor’s stall and grabs as much as he can. When he hauls his treasure onto the stall, he is pleased to find that he managed to snag the loaf of bread that was no doubt meant to be the vendor’s lunch, as well as enough fruit to keep them fed for the day. 

“Dean!” Sam hisses from behind him, “Let’s go!”

Dean shoves the fruit and bread into the cloth bag hanging at his hip and shimmies up a rickety ladder. Sam is waiting for him at the top of the building, and he raises an inquisitive eyebrow when Dean walks over to him. Dean grins and pats the bag gently. The thing is bulging, and barely closes with how full it is.

“We’ll eat like kings tonight,” he says.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, “unless we get caught by—”

“Me?” a new voice asks, and they turn to find the captain of the royal guard leaning against a pole casually, four other guards flanking him. Henricksen grins evilly at them and moves forward, drawing his sword. “You’re not going anywhere this time.”

Dean, trying to think of a plan, looks up, down, to either side, and then behind him. He grins. 

“Are you sure about that?” he asks. Henricksen pauses warily, obviously sensing that Dean has some trick up his sleeve. He’s right, and is not prepared for the way Dean grabs Sam’s hand and then throws them off the side of the building, Sam’s yelp the only thing that proved they were ever there in the first place. 

He feels like he left his stomach on the roof as he falls, the wind whistling in his ears, his eyes getting wider and wider as he drops like a stone towards the ground, wondering the whole time if it was really such a good idea to do this in the first place.

But just as suddenly as the fall began, it stops, and Dean and Sam lay in the cart of hay for a moment, trying to catch their breath. They hear a shout from above them and look up. Henriksen is glaring at them, and if looks could kill Dean knows they’d be dead by now. Making sure he still has his bag—wouldn’t it suck for them to (maybe) survive this, only to have lost their prize?—he bolts, Sam hot on his heels. 

They weave through the crowd, pushing people aside none too gently. They receive many glares and shouts, but they’re too busy running to care. They can hear the guards catching up fast; they don’t need to shove people out of their way because a path is automatically cleared for them. No one dares to hinder one of the guards in pursuit of criminals. 

“This way!” Sam says, and Dean follows him through a door, up a small flight of stairs, and into a large room. The woman who lives there—they’re familiar with her; she’s helped them escape capture before in return for a few small emeralds off the necklace they’d stolen—is nowhere to be found. 

“Closet?” Dean suggests, but Sam shakes his head.

“They know we’re in here and that’s the first place they’d check,” he says. Worrying his lip, he looks around at the sparse furnishings in the room. His eyes alight on a pile of fabric in the corner, and he grins. “I’ve got an idea.”

He leads Dean to the corner and pulls out a few long niqabs. He hands them to Dean, who raises his eyebrow.

“I don’t know how to do it, and I know Mom used to make you help her,” Sam explains, and Dean doesn’t have any time to protest because they can hear the door at the bottom of the stairs burst inward. Sam hurries to the inner door and shoves the cot in front of it, then piles all the pots on top of that while Dean starts wrapping himself in the black niqab. He wraps his face, too, leaving only his eyes exposed. 

Sam hurries over to him and Dean wraps him in the brown garment, and then the two of them look around for an escape. Dean’s eyes land on the window, and he runs over to it. There’s a ladder leading down to the street, and he and Sam scurry down it just as the door bursts open. They merge into the crowd again, crouching so that they aren’t distinguishable by their heights. 

They watch in something akin to respect as Henriksen jumps out of the window and lands in a crouch on the ground, the other guards not far behind. They scan the crowd and their eyes pass right over Sam and Dean, who are walking at an unhurried pace towards a stall selling women’s clothing. 

The guards split up and one of them rushes right past Sam and Dean. 

Dean sneezes. 

The guard stops.

He turns around and gazes suspiciously at them, then he comes towards them with his hand outstretched. He reaches for the part of Dean’s niqab where it wraps around his face, obviously intending to rip it off, but Dean recoils, his eyes wide, and the owner of the stall comes to his rescue.

“Here, now!” he booms, “Leave this woman alone! She's done nothing and I won't have you harassing my customers!” 

The guard, who is admittedly small and skinny, looks at the large, intimidating figure of the vendor, and wisely decides to back off. 

“My apologies, miss,” he says to Dean, bowing slightly. 

Dean nods to him once, and he leaves. Dean then nods his thanks to the vendor, who winks at him. 

“If you ever need help, you just come call ol’ Cherub,” he says. 

Dean smiles, forgetting for a moment that his face is covered, but Cherub must see it in his eyes because he smiles back. Dean jerks his head at Sam, and the two of them hurry back to their usual sleeping place. 

It can't really be called a house because it’s barely standing up, but it's definitely home, even if they don't sleep there all the time. Once they're off the main road, they slink through back streets and eventually come to a stairwell made from the same red clay bricks that all other structures are made of. 

The stairwell is missing a step or a chunk of brick here and there, and it leads up to the top floor of an abandoned building. There are holes in the walls and ceiling, and if the wind blows too hard tiny pieces of brick will rain down on them. However, it's better than sleeping completely out in the open. 

One of the holes they covered with a large piece of white cloth. In front of this is where they set up their beds, though beds is used in the loosest sense of the word. They sleep on cushions that are losing their stuffing, and cover themselves with thin, scratchy blankets. 

Dean strips off his niqab and plops down onto his side of their bed. Sam joins him a moment later. 

“That was close,” he says. “We have to be more careful in the future.”

“Henriksen is an idiot,” Dean says, “There's no way he's ever going to be able to catch us.”

“He almost did, today.” Sam frowns, “If it weren't for that vendor, we would've been in a dungeon in the palace right now.”

“But we escaped, and more importantly, we have dinner.”

Sam raises his eyebrow as Dean digs the bread out of his bag and splits it. 

“You might want to rethink your priorities,” Sam says. 

“My priorities are completely in order.” 

After distributing the bread, Dean passes Sam two apples, saves two for himself, and then splits the small melon in half. It's not much, but it's all they've eaten all day, and they practically inhale their food. 

When they're satisfied—well not satisfied, but the worst of the hunger pangs are gone—they wrap themselves in their blankets and the niqabs they stole, and huddle down in their nest of cushions. 

The sun is setting, and it's not extremely late, but Sam is snoring within minutes. Dean is too restless to sleep. He pulls aside the cloth covering their “window” and leans against the edge of the hole. There's an amazing view of the palace from their home, and Dean watches in awe as the sun sets slowly behind it, bathing the white marble and gold with yellow light. 

Dean can't help but imagine what life would be like at the palace. He knows that the sultan and the prince don't have to scavenge for food and dodge guards everyday, but other than that he has no idea what other luxuries they have. Servants specifically for helping them dress, perhaps? Elephants for when they want to tour their grounds and beds softer than clouds?

He'd love to live like royalty. This life wasn't what he and Sam were supposed to live. They used to go to school, they were able to go to the market every weekend, and spend their money on useless toys and trinkets. But they have no choice but to steal now, and it makes Dean’s blood boil with the injustice of it all. He and his brother did nothing to deserve this life, yet they can't even do anything to bump up their quality of living. 

With an angry sigh, Dean lets the cloth fall back into place and settles down next to Sam. He closes his eyes and, putting thoughts of elephants and servants out of his mind, tries to get some sleep. 

… oO()Oo… 

The next morning, they're at another part of the market, searching for a good place to get breakfast. There's a stall selling fresh bread, another boasting the best nuts in the sultanate, and one with at least five different types of fish for sale. Of course, Dean would love to get his hands on any type of meat, but it's not like he has anywhere to cook it. Bread would have to be enough, so he sets his sights on that stall. 

Today he's going to create the diversion because the crowd in the market is bigger today than it was yesterday, and Dean’s always been better at dealing with big crowds. While Sam shimmies up to the roof of the building right behind the bread stall, Dean casually meanders from stall to stall picking up a lamp here, a necklace there, and pretending to be a regular customer and not a wanted thief. 

He finally makes it to a fruit stall, owned by a different man than the one he and Sam stole from yesterday, and judges it to be far away enough from their actual target. He walks past the stall and then pauses, pretending to have dropped something. His plan is to look around on the ground, bump into someone, and cause a pileup and, hopefully, a large commotion. But before he can even drop his eyes to the dusty ground, his attention is caught by a small drama taking place at the fruit stall. 

A boy who can’t be much older than himself stands there, his black hair mostly hidden underneath a thin cloak with the hood pulled up. His eyes are so blue that Dean can see them even from where he is. The boy is watching a small child reach for an apple on the fruit stall, a frown marring his handsome features. The kid is obviously hungry, and the older boy’s face is wrought with sympathy. 

“Here you go,” he says as he grabs the apple and hands it to the child. They smile at each other, but then the owner of the stall turns around and his face contorts with anger.

“You’d better be able to pay for that!” he shouts. 

Dean has only enough time to think _holy shit who is this kid why is he so stupid Sam is going to kill me goddammit_ before he leaps forward to help.

 

Castiel is . . . furious. But he hides his fury well, as he was taught to do long ago. It isn’t his father’s fault, he supposes, though the sultan could change the law. But if every sultan simply changed the laws that governed their entire kingdom to fit his own whims, what was the point of having the laws in the first place? 

No, Castiel isn’t mad at his father (much). He’s mad at the first sultans, at the universe, at life itself. The sultan finds him in the garden, by the large fishpond in the center of it. He loves the pond, loves how serene it always is despite the turmoil that his life can sometimes descend into. The brightly coloured fish don’t have to worry about upholding law and tradition and one day becoming the sultan; they’re content to swim around the pond that is their entire world, and Castiel is often envious of them.

The sultan loves the pond too, but for an entirely different reason. He says that the water, because of the tiles at the bottom of the pond, is the same colour blue as Castiel’s eyes and as Castiel’s mother’s eyes, and that whenever he wants to be reminded of his dead wife, he can simply come out here and gaze at the pond. Castiel finds it rather somber, but if it makes his father happy, then who is he to say anything?

“Castiel?” the sultan says softly, drawing Castiel out of his thoughts. 

He turns to face his father, his eyes narrowed. 

Chuck flinches a little under the force of his glare, and Castiel reigns his anger in with some difficulty. “I know you’re upset, but you must understand that this is how it’s been since the beginning of this kingdom.”

“I know that,” Castiel says. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. In fact, it just gives me even more reason to hate that law. Why do I have to conform to the standards set by sultans who were dead so long ago that no one can even remember their names?”

“These laws keep order. But it’s more than that. I’m not going to be here forever, Castiel, and I want to know that our line is secured before I go.”

“Don’t talk like that! You’re too young to die,” Castiel says. 

Chuck gives him a tiny smile. “Of old age, maybe, but what if I get sick? What if a war breaks out and I have to lead our armies into battle?” He moves closer and sets his hand on Castiel’s arm. “I want to make sure that you’re taken care of. You’re going to be sultan soon—”

“Soon?” Castiel exclaims angrily. “I won’t be sultan for years! I have no problems with being forced to marry”—Chuck winces at the phrasing, but Castiel is so worked up now that he can’t find it in himself to care—“eventually, but I’m not even twenty yet! Why do I have to worry so much about this right now? I want to see the world before I have to settle down and rule the sultanate, but I’ve never even been outside the palace walls!”

Chuck sighs. This argument is an old one, and they’re both tired of it. 

“It’s dangerous outside, Castiel. One day you’ll have to go out, but you’re not ready yet. You still have a lot to learn about the world we live in before you’re actually ready to live in it.”

“That’s stupid,” Castiel huffs. “If I take a few guards with me, I’ll be fine.”

“The answer is no, Castiel,” Chuck says in his sultan voice, the commanding one that he rarely uses. “Stay inside the palace. Please.”

Castiel bites his lip and looks down, but he doesn’t say anything. Chuck sighs again and, after a moment no doubt spent debating whether or not to say anything more, leaves. Castiel looks up at the sky. The sun is starting to set already, and he has only an hour or so left of light, judging by its position. Soon the servants will start lighting the oil lamps positioned all around the palace grounds. 

Castiel furrows his brow and walks over to the high wall that runs around the palace and separates it from the city. Long, thick vines creep their way up the wall, reaching the top and even disappearing over it in some places. Castiel pulls on one; it stays firm and doesn’t move, and a mischievous glint comes into his eyes as he starts to think of a plan. 

… oO()Oo …

The city is definitely not what he expected, but he doesn’t know yet if that’s a good or bad thing. After living in the splendor of the palace for all nineteen years of his life, the simple clay buildings and dusty streets are a little underwhelming. But aside from the monochrome landscape, everything else is amazing. The air is crisper and fresher and sounds less muted. It’s his imagination, he knows, but it still brings a smile to his face.

He climbs a staircase and sits on a stone walkway suspended between two buildings to watch the sunrise, and there he stays until people start emerging from their homes to begin their days. He’s entranced by them, the commonfolk. They’re all so colourful! The fabrics that the clothes are made of are obviously not as high quality as the ones he usually wears, but they’re infinitely more beautiful than the simple shirt, pants, and cloak he stole from the servants’ laundry room.

He follows a woman to the market, and his eyes widen when he takes everything in. There are people everywhere, all of them talking, laughing, and boasting the quality of their wares and haggling for the best price. Castiel is suddenly reminded with a pang of disappointment that he didn’t bring any money with him, but he doesn’t mind. If he wants something, he can send a servant out to find it when he gets back to the palace. 

For now, he’s content with simply walking through the market, enjoying all the sensations. The air is filled with the smell of freshly cooked food that makes Castiel’s mouth water; the stalls that aren’t selling food entice him with beautiful pots, gorgeous jewelry, and other miscellaneous trinkets and knicknacks. He’s really regretting not having the forethought to at least grab a few gold pieces from his room before setting out, but he was just so excited that in his haste, he only grabbed the most important things to help him blend in. 

He’s sure he sticks out like a sore thumb anyway, with all the gawking he’s doing. And he’s so obviously flustered by all of the people who are aggressively self-advertising their wares. Necklaces and lamps and handfuls of nuts are shoved in his face wherever he turns, and he regretfully refuses everything they offer to sell him. 

But then he reaches a fruit stall that catches his eye because a small child is standing in front of it, trying to reach one of the apples. 

She’s much too thin, Castiel thinks. Her face is gaunt and there are deep purple bruises underneath her eyes. Castiel frowns and his eyes soften with pity. Before he has time to actually think and realize that this is a bad idea, he reaches out and grabs one of the apples. 

“Here you go.” The girl smiles at him when he hands it to her, and he smiles back. But then their smiles drop and Castiel’s eyes widen, because the owner of the stall turns around and catches them, his face contorting with fury.

“You’d better be able to pay for that!” he shouts. 

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have anything to pay with,” Castiel says, his voice smaller than he’s ever heard it before. “But if you let me run home, I can get the money for you.”

“Ha!” the man booms. He grabs Castiel’s hand, his grip tight and painful. “As if a street rat such as yourself has money. You wouldn’t steal, then, would you? And surely you know what the penalty for stealing is.”

He unsheathes his sword, and Castiel pulls hard, trying to free himself from the man’s grip. 

“Wait, stop!” he exclaims fearfully, and someone must have heard his plea, because before the sword can even come close to his wrist, someone grabs the stall owner’s arm and stops its movement. Castiel turns wide eyes to the boy who saved him, and feels a blush stain his cheeks pink.

The boy is taller than both the man and Castiel, and he’s also very handsome. He looks to be about Castiel’s age, and, like Castiel, he’s wearing clothes that are almost no better than rags. Unlike Castiel, he probably can’t afford to get new ones. Castiel feels a stab of guilt at essentially making fun of all of these people, but that guilt is pushed away when Castiel finally looks away from the boy’s toned arms—that sleeveless vest also highlights the broadness of his shoulders—and meets the greenest eyes he’s ever seen.

The boy flashes a cocky grin at him before he turns back to the stall owner.

“Woah, hold on a minute,” he says, “Let’s not be too hasty.”

“Remove your hand from my body or I’ll remove it from yours,” the man threatens, “I am well within my rights to punish thieves.”

“Really?” the boy asks, his smirk cocky, “Because last I heard, it was the guards who handled that. Besides, didn’t you hear what happened to Ishmael the sword swallower last week?”

The man looks wary at that, and the sword lowers a fraction. Castiel notices for the first time that almost everyone who had been in the street had crowded around them and are watching the drama with interest. A few of them look worried or confused at the mention of this Ishmael person.

“No,” the fruit vendor says, “What happened?”

“Well, some brat tried to steal one of his swords, and so Ishmael cut off his hand. But some of the guards found out and they threw him in jail for trying to do their jobs. We wouldn’t want that to happen to you, would we?”

The man looks a little queasy at that, and looks around at the other people. They’re muttering to themselves and each other, and Castiel catches a few bits of conversations.

“I heard about that—”

“—his wife was devastated—”

“—left three children behind—”

“—terrible business, that.”

The sword finally lowers all the way and Castiel is released. He immediately starts rubbing his wrist with his hand, hoping to bring feeling back to it. The boy beams and wraps an arm around Castiel’s shoulders.

“Thank you ever so much,” he says. He reaches into one of the pockets in his pants and pulls out a gold coin. He flicks it towards the vendor and the man drops his sword in his eagerness to catch it. “No hard feelings, right? Of course not.”

And with that he starts dragging Castiel away from the stall. Castiel’s cheeks burn even brighter at the feeling of the boy’s calloused hand in his own soft one, and he hopes that everyone thinks it’s just the stress getting to him.

They walk in silence for a while until they can no longer see or hear the market, and then the boy drops Castiel’s hand. Castiel tries not to feel disappointed. 

“So,” the boy says, “You don’t seem like a stupid person, even though you just did a stupid thing, so you have to know that there’s questions coming.” Castiel nods. “But not right now. Sam should be back home already, and I want to eat. Um, would you mind following me?”

Castiel smiles a small smile and shakes his head. He’s intrigued when the boy blushes faintly. They start walking again, and the boy leads Castiel off the main roads and onto lesser used ones.

“Thank you for saving me,” Castiel says after a few minutes of walking in comfortable silence. “If you hadn’t been there, I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

“It’s no problem, really,” the boy says. “You’re not the first person I’ve helped like that, and you most likely won’t be the last. I’m Dean, by the way.”

“My name’s—” he starts, but he’s interrupted when someone calls Dean’s name. Another boy runs towards them, dressed in clothes similar to Dean’s. A medium sized, cloth sack hangs at his hip. He slides to a stop in front of them and leans his hands on his knees, panting.

“Holy shit,” he gasps. “You’re . . . insane. What . . . the hell?”

“So you saw that, then,” Dean says, smirking. “And I see you managed to get breakfast.”

The boy takes in one last gulp of air before straightening up, and Castiel’s eyes widen. The boy looks a little younger than he and Dean, but he’s taller by a good few inches. His shoulders are broad, his arms powerful, and he’s probably the second most intimidating person Castiel’s ever met. But despite all of this, the boy’s eyes are kind and gentle, and Castiel can tell that he’s not as dangerous as he looks.

Dean turns to Castiel. 

“This is my baby brother, Sammy,” he says, and the other boy scowls.

“It’s Sam,” he tells Castiel, who nods in acknowledgement. “And you are?”

“I'm Castiel.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Like the prince?”

Oh, shit. Castiel had forgotten that people knew who he was. He’s so used to only interacting with people who actually knew him that it hadn't even crossed his mind that people in the city would react differently. 

And no matter what, he knows that he can't let anyone know who he really is. He knows that many of the things he's been taught about the city are wrong, but he won't risk being kidnapped and held for ransom. He can't. 

So he says “Yes, like the Prince,” in response to Dean’s question and doesn't elaborate. Dean only nods, and Castiel lets out a tiny sigh of relief. It's not that he doesn't trust Dean—because he does, inadvisable as that is; he did save Castiel, after all, and at great personal risk—but he doesn't know enough about the situation to make that kind of call, and on the days when his tutor had taught him how to strategize, plan, and see the bigger picture, he'd been taught that it's best to keep any important information to yourself until you know exactly what effect it will have once you release it. 

“Are you hungry?” Dean asks, and Sam throws him a sharp look. It's obvious that these two barely get by as it is, and Sam obviously doesn't want to share whatever food he'd managed to steal. 

“Not really,” Castiel lies, “but I will go with you. I owe you an explanation, I guess.”

Dean smiles at him, and Castiel finds himself smiling back even before he makes the decision to do so. The brothers lead him even further into the city, and soon they reach a decrepit building set amidst others that are slightly less decrepit. It looks uninhabited and foreboding, but Sam walks through the door and up the stairs like he’s done it hundreds of times. And Castiel supposes he probably has.

Dean walks beside him and helps him up the stairs, catching his arm when he stumbles over holes and random pieces of debris. By the time they get to the top of the stairs, Sam is already there and has pulled a bunch of food out of the bag at his hip. Dean leads him to a large pile of thin blankets and half-stuffed pillows, and Castiel sinks down onto it gratefully. His feet are killing him from all of the walking he’s done.

Despite how Sam had reacted earlier, he has no problems with handing Castiel an apple. The Prince accepts it with a smile of thanks and takes a bite. Dean and Sam split up the rest of the fruit, and Castiel is struck by just how little they actually have. What the two of them together are eating, would be considered the first course for just one person at any breakfast he eats in the palace on a regular basis. As he munches on his apple, he contemplates how many other people are going hungry. He thinks of that little girl who he’d stolen an apple for. 

Dean pulls him out of his thoughts a few minutes later, and Castiel realises that they’ve all finished eating, and the two brothers are staring at him expectantly.

“Sorry?” Castiel says, guessing that they’ve been trying to get his attention for a while now.

“I asked if you’ve ever been to the market before,” Dean says, lobbing his apple core outside, through one of the holes in the wall. Castiel copies him.

“No,” Castiel admits. “Today was my first time. And probably my last.”

Sam’s eyebrows shoot up. “Why?” he asks. 

“My father’s never let me go before, and I just wanted to see it at least once.”

“He doesn’t know you went?” Dean guesses, and Castiel nods.

“I snuck out last night. I was planning on going back before noon. Actually,” he says, struck by a certain thought, “what time is it?”

He reaches up and pushes aside the cloth that covers one of the holes in the wall. He’s simply intending to check the position of the sun, but he is completely distracted by the view that greets him. He’s seen the city before, of course, from the palace, but he’s never seen the palace from the city. It’s . . . amazing. Definitely one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen. The sunlight makes the gold on the palace glow and paints the red clay buildings of the city a deep red orange that reminds him of a sunset. 

“Wow,” he breathes softly, eyes widening as he takes it all in. There are sounds too, that he’s just now noticing, laughter, music, and talking, and all of the signs of life that he doesn’t often hear in the palace. At least, not as freely as this.

“I know,” Dean says, coming up to sit next to him. “It’s beautiful, isn't it?”

“I’ve never seen the palace like this,” he says, his voice filled with awe, “It’s incredible.”

“It is,” Dean agrees, “Simply beautiful.” 

Castiel looks at Dean, only to realize that the green-eyed boy is staring at him with a tiny smile on his face. Dean blinks and rears back like a frightened deer, and both boys blush furiously. Behind them, Sam snorts. 

“Can it, Samantha,” Dean mutters, but his cheeks are still red. Castiel’s probably aren’t any better, judging by the heat radiating out from his face, so he just steadfastly ignores the awkwardness and actually does what he’d intended to do in the first place. 

“I should be heading back home,” he says, noting with slight alarm that the sun is almost directly overhead. His father would be waking up soon, if he hadn’t woken up already. He turns to Sam, his blush receding. “Thank you for letting me stay.” 

Sam gives him a small, but genuine, smile. “It’s no problem, Castiel.”

Dean clears his throat awkwardly. “I can walk you out, if you want.”

Castiel nods, and Dean leads him down the stairs and out onto the street. Once there, they both hover awkwardly, neither of them willing to part ways so soon. 

“Thank you for helping me earlier,” Castiel says, unwilling to meet Dean’s eyes.

“It was no problem.” Dean sounds as uncomfortable as Castiel feels, so the prince risks looking up. Dean is staring at a spot on the ground, and Castiel lets his gaze wander for a moment. Dean really is beautiful, with his bright green eyes, his pouty lips, and his frankly adorable freckles. Castiel feels the slight urge to kiss each and every spot, and he has to fight back the blush that threatens to rise up at the thought.

It’s an urge he most likely got from his parents. His mother had freckles on her face too, and his father used to kiss them constantly. It was his way of showing his love for her. Many people had told the sultana that her freckles should’ve been covered up at all times, that they were an unsightly blemish, but Chuck loved them and said that they only made him love her more. Castiel had picked up on the habit as well, and used to kiss his mother’s freckles when he was small. It was one of the earliest forms of showing affection he’d learned.

He realizes that he’s staring when Dean lifts his eyes and looks straight into Castiel’s. He does blush this time, and one of his hands starts to pick at a loose thread on his cloak. 

“Um, see you around?” he says, and turns to go, but Dean reaches out and grabs his hand.

“Do you mean that?” he asks intently. Castiel is startled, but he still nods and is surprised when he finds that he does actually mean it. Dean searches his face intently for something, and he must find whatever it is eventually, because his face breaks out into a huge smile. “See you soon, then.”

He turns and goes back into the building, and Castiel starts the long walk back to the palace with his mind stuck on thoughts of tall boys with freckles and the most beautiful green eyes he’s ever seen.

... oO()Oo ...

Azazel snarls with disgust as he walks over to the table holding his hourglass. Curse that damned tiger! Where is he supposed to find a “diamond in the rough”? What even is a diamond in the rough?

From her perch on his shoulder, Lilith sneers as much as she can with a beak.

“Where are we supposed to find a diamond in the rough?” she asks, unknowingly echoing his thoughts. 

“That’s what we’re about to find out,” Azazel snaps. He pulls the hourglass to the center of the table and gently taps it with his dagger. It’s a gorgeous piece of steel, as long as his hand and sharp enough to split hairs. The hilt is made of polished gold and inlaid with small rubies. The bottom of the hilt is shaped like a tiger’s head, and two tiny sapphires make up the eyes. Most importantly, it allows him to channel his magic.

The sand in the hourglass starts to swirl as if there’s a tiny wind storm in the glass, and the particles form a picture. It’s a bit hard to see and very hard to hear, but he manages to make out what it is. 

He watches in shock at first, then thoughtfulness, then glee as Prince Castiel promises to come back and visit a blond-haired street rat. At first, he thinks the hourglass is showing him that Castiel is the one he seeks, but then it follows the other boy when the prince leaves.

Azazel banishes the image with a wave of his hand and grins. 

“Looks like we’ve found our diamond,” he says.

“But how are we going to get him?” Lilith asks. “We don’t even know who he is.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, my faithful companion,” Azazel tells her. “We don’t need to find him. Our prince already knows, and will lead us right to him.”

… oO()Oo …

He waits at the end of the corridor that holds the prince’s bedroom, knowing that Castiel will want to change out of his ratty clothes as soon as possible. Sure enough, not even ten minutes after Lilith informed Azazel that the he was back, Castiel slinks down the corridor and slips into his bathroom. Azazel would be impressed by his stealth if he had any respect for the Prince. 

He waits until the door opens again and Castiel comes back out, now dressed in white harem pants tied to his waist with a dark blue sash, and a plain white sleeveless vest with the buttons done up. Castiel looks around once more, then starts down the hallway. Azazel steps out to intercept him as he’s turning the corner, and the prince nearly jumps out of his skin. He looks nervous, no doubt expecting to be confronted about his forbidden foray into the world of the commoners. 

“Azazel,” he says. “How can I help you?”

“Oh, I just wanted your opinion on my dagger,” Azazel says smoothly. 

“Your dagger?” Castiel repeats, one eyebrow raised. 

“Yes.” Azazel pulls the dagger out of its sheathe and holds it up by the blade, twisting it to let the gems catch the light. He looks at Castiel and makes sure that the prince is looking at the hilt, then turns it so that the sapphire-eyed tiger is staring right at him. He fuels his energy into the dagger, watching in satisfaction as Castiel starts to look disoriented. “My dagger. It’s nice, don’t you think?”

“I—yes,” Castiel says, confused. “Wh-What do you—”

Azazel poors more of his power into the dagger, and Castiel finally relaxes fully, his eyes becoming vacant and his face going slack. 

“I have a question for you, if you don’t mind me asking,” Azazel says conversationally. “Are you willing to help me with a small problem I have?”

“Of course,” Castiel mumbles. 

“Excellent. Although, the two of us might not be enough. Why don’t you bring your new blond friend to help too?”

“Of course,” the Prince says again.

“We’ll have to send guards with you, of course, for your own protection. Tomorrow you’ll help them find the boy, yes?”

“Yes.”

Azazel smiles and puts his dagger back into its sheathe. Castiel blinks and straightens up, frowning. 

“Was there anything else you needed me for?” he asks. 

“No, my prince. You’ve helped quite enough.” Azazel bows and turns, his cape swishing loudly in the otherwise quiet hall as he strides away. If all goes smoothly tomorrow, that lamp should be in his grasp by the end of the week.

 

Dean is up early the morning after they met Castiel. Sam is still asleep when the older Winchester’s eyes crack open, and for a few moments Dean simply lies there smiling like an idiot. 

Castiel had promised to come back and visit them again, and Dean closes his eyes and recalls the memory he’d fallen asleep to. It’s Castiel’s face when he saw the city lit up by the sun. Dean will forever cherish this particular memory. Castiel’s eyes had lit up and the tiniest of smiles had curved his lips, and Dean had been absolutely lost in staring. 

As embarrassing as it had been, he knew he’d do the same thing over again if only to get another glimpse of Castiel’s face. Yesterday had been . . . very strange, but also incredible. He could still recall the feeling of Castiel’s soft hand in his own calloused one, how adorably flustered Castiel had looked when he was walking through the market, and the way the the light made his blue eyes sparkle like sapphires.

Sam had always told Dean that one of his biggest weaknesses was how fast he fell for people. Dean often said the same to Sam. Usually they ignored each other’s advice, but this time Dean is willing to admit that there was a tiny chance that he could maybe have the hots for Castiel. Maybe. 

The question is, what should he do about it? He doesn’t know when Castiel plans on coming back, only that he does plan on it. He’d seen nothing but truth in those blue eyes when he’d asked if Castiel had meant what he’d said yesterday. 

He never was any good at decisions like these. Ask him which vendor to steal from on any given day and he’d be able to come to a decision almost immediately, but now he’s drawing a blank when it comes to the whole Castiel situation.

There’s a part of him that reminds him that he knows absolutely nothing about Castiel at all, and that he could be working with the guards to sniff out thieves for all they knew. Dean tells that part of himself to shut the hell up, because Castiel had radiated nothing but honesty yesterday. Besides, he surely hadn’t been acting when he’d given that apple to that child, right? 

Right. Nodding to himself, Dean stretches and pulls himself out of bed. The sun is already letting the world know that it’s morning in its usual cautious way, slowly peeking out over the horizon, making itself known with pale, unobtrusive colours, and Dean knows that he’ll have to wake Sam soon. They try to get to the market streets before the crowds, so that they have time to pick targets and figure out ways to get to them. 

Dean walks downstairs to relieve himself, and when he makes his way back, it’s to find Sam sitting up on the bed, looking around blearily. 

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean says, grinning. Sam frowns at him in confusion, and Dean can’t really blame him. It’s not very often that the older of the two is up first.

“Dean? What are you doing up?” Sam asks, his voice still scratchy with sleep. 

“Don’t know. Just woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep,” Dean tells him.

Sam scrutinizes him for a moment then shrugs. “Whatever. Might as well get an early start, since you’re up.”

Dean waits for Sam to use the bathroom (which is really just a hole in the ground on a lower floor, but whatever. Technicalities) and then the two of them make their way out onto the streets. 

“So, what are you in the mood for?” Dean asks. 

Sam gives him an unimpressed look. “Whatever we manage to steal,” he replies dryly. 

Dean grins at him. “Don’t be such a wet blanket,” he says. 

They turn a corner, and because they’re looking at each other, they don’t notice the people standing just past the turn until Dean bumps into the one in front. He starts to apologize, but the words die on his tongue when he takes in just who he bumped into.

“Hello, Winchester,” Henriksen says. Dean’s eyes widen and he takes in the ten or so guards standing behind the captain, and behind them is… 

“Castiel?” Dean blurts out before he can stop himself. 

Castiel smiles at him, but it’s not malicious, like one would expect. No, Castiel is smiling pleasantly at the brothers, like he’s here for a visit and not leading guards to them. 

Henriksen’s eyes narrow with anger. “Don’t speak to the prince,” he snaps, and if Dean’s eyes weren’t already about to pop out of his head, they would’ve widened even further. 

“Prince?” he squeaks. He would’ve stood there gaping like a fish out of water for God knows how long, but Sam grabs his arm and drags them back the way they came. Dean stumbles after him, but they only make it as far as their house before more guards spill out into the street. The Winchesters stop and look around, looking desperately for an escape, but there is none that they can see. 

“We’re trapped,” Sam says quietly, almost to himself, and Dean doesn’t reply. He looks back over his shoulder at Castiel, who is still smiling. Dean frowns. There’s something… off about him. He’s looking at what’s happening with an almost dreamy expression on his face, but he looks detached, like he’s seeing but not actually understanding. 

“Restrain them and bring them to the dungeons,” Henriksen barks at his men, and they instantly swarm the Winchesters. Sam and Dean fight back as best as they can, and they even manage to take down a few of the guards down, but in the end there’s no point. There are at least twenty guards and only two of them, and the fight is over before it even really begins. 

Their hands are forced behind their backs and tied tight with rough rope, and then the guards surround them and force them to move towards the palace. Dean goes through the motions, but it’s obvious that he’s not really there. His mind is on Castiel; more specifically, the fact that Castiel is _the_ prince. 

Dean wonders if that whole scene with the fruit vendor yesterday really was an act, meant to draw out idiots like Dean so that Castiel could then report back to the guards. He feels anger rush through him at the thought, both at Castiel and at himself. 

He was too quick to trust, and he broke the first rule that he and Sam had come up with years ago: don’t trust anyone but each other. He was disgusted at his lack of self-control. He’d do anything for a pretty face, it seems. 

Sam throws him a worried glance as they’re marched through the streets for everyone to gawk at, but Dean is too lost in his fury to notice it or the onlookers. 

“Dean,” Sam starts, but the guard holding onto his arm gives him a shake and snaps at him to shut up.

It breaks Dean out of his reverie, and he notices that they’re already at the palace. Not at the front entrance that important guests and the royals themselves use, though. No, the guards led them to a side door hidden at the side of the wall that’s out of the view of all the people who had gathered to watch the succession make their way to the palace. 

They're led through the door and then a stone courtyard. The path they take winds around the back of the palace, and Dean shivers in the cool shadow. At his side, Sam is silent still, and looks about them with narrow, calculating eyes. He’s obviously looking for a way out of this mess, but Dean doesn't think there is one. 

After a few minutes of walking, they reach a wooden trapdoor. It opens to reveal a staircase that leads almost straight down. It's so dark that Dean can't even see the bottom. 

“I didn't think the hell hole dungeons would be an actual hell hole,” Dean quips. He gets a heavy cuff to his ear for his efforts at lightening the mood, and blinks against the ringing in his ear and the spots dancing across his vision. Sam kicks him subtly and shoots him a _shut-the-fuck-up-you-fucking-idiot_ look. Dean returns with a _what-else-do-you-want-me-to-do-I-make-bad-jokes-when-I’m-stressed_ look, to which Sam rolls his eyes and clears his throat.

Dean watches curiously as Sam opens his mouth and works his jaw a bit as they start down the stairs, but just before their heads clear the doors, they hear a loud shout coming from the direction they just came from. The guards all freeze and listen, and after a few moments the yell comes again, but this time it sounds more strangled and cuts off after a few seconds.

The guards all draw their swords and a few even move towards the sound cautiously. The one who is obviously in charge makes a few hand motions, and then slowly starts creeping towards where the scream had originated. Most of the guards followed, and eventually Sam and Dean are left with only four guards. 

The brothers exchange looks, then burst into motion at the same time. Dean headbutts the guard closest to him hard enough that he himself sees stars, then sidesteps to avoid another guard’s sword as it swings down. That man gets a sharp kick to his stomach that sends him to his knees, and then another kick to the side of his head has him slumping over, unconscious. 

Dean looks up to see that Sam has already taken care of the other two guards.

“Man, I am glad you learned how to throw your voice all those years ago,” he hisses quietly. Surely the noise of the fight had attracted the attention of the other sixteen guards, and they only have a limited amount of time to escape. 

Sam bends down and lifts a sword, and Dean carefully uses it to cut the ropes binding his hands. Once he’s free, he releases Sam, and then the two of them take off down the path leading away from where the guards had gone. 

The wall surrounding the palace looms overhead on their left, and the palace itself is on their right. Up ahead they see a flash of green that makes Dean think of trees. They reach the end of the path and find themselves in a garden. A small pond sits in the center of it, and faint splashing alerts them to the presence of fish. Tall trees and other green plants surround a well-worn stone path that winds its way through the garden. 

Dean leads the way through the vegetation, years of practice allowing him and Sam to tread silently. Sam gently touches his hand, and Dean realizes that he had it, and its twin, clenched into tight fists. With an angry sigh, he releases them, though he’s sure his eyes are still dark with fury.

“What’s wrong?” Sam whispers.

“What do you think is wrong?” Dean whisper-yells back. He angrily swipes at a large leaf that’s dangling right in front of his face. “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have trusted Castiel, shouldn’t have brought him home. It’s just my luck he ended up being the fucking prince,” he adds in an angry mumble. 

Sam nods sagely in agreement. “And now we’re trapped on palace grounds with no way out, we’re probably even more wanted than we were before, and once those guards find out that we escaped the whole place will probably go on lockdown,” he says.

“Thanks for that,” Dean says sarcastically. A branch snaps up ahead, and both of them freeze. A low voice floats over to them, and they quickly leave the path and crouch underneath the fronds of some huge fern. A few moments later, two people come into view.

One of them is a man that Dean’s never seen before. He’s dressed in loose yellow robes and a black cape swirls around his ankles. On one of his shoulders sits a blood red parrot. The other person is Castiel, dressed like the royalty he is, and Dean grits his teeth at the sight of him. 

 

 _Traitor_ , he can’t help but think. The two walk at a leisurely pace along the path, and the unfamiliar man stops a few paces away from where Sam and Dean are crouching.

“I would like to thank you for helping the guards find those boys,” the man says, “I’m sure your friends will be very helpful to me.”

Dean and Sam exchange confused looks, and Castiel frowns. 

“I . . . No, I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about that,” he says, sounding uncertain and confused. “How did you . . . why did I lead Henriksen to them?”

Dean frowns, even as a tiny spark of hope blooms in his chest that Castiel isn’t actually a traitor. There’s something fishy going on, he’s sure of it. His suspicions are confirmed when the man quickly draws a dagger from a sheathe on his belt and brings it up to eye level. Dean tenses, then relaxes when he’s sure that Castiel isn’t about to be attacked.

He can’t really see the dagger, but it glitters in the light in a way that suggests it’s encrusted with jewels, and the butt of the knife is shaped like . . . something. Castiel’s eyes widen a bit as he looks at it, then his body relaxes and he stares at the knife like he’s not really seeing it, like how he looked when Sam and Dean had been arrested half an hour ago.

“It’s okay,” the man says, and Dean’s eyes widen when he notices that the man’s eyes are glowing bright yellow. His voice is soft, reassuring, and hypnotic, and Dean realizes with a jolt that that’s exactly what’s going on. He’s seen this type of magic before, of course, there are many street performers in the city, but he didn’t know that the nobility practiced it as well. Or maybe it’s not the nobility as a whole, and only this man knows magic.

“Everything will be okay,” the man says.

“Yes,” Castiel agrees, his voice devoid of emotion.

“Don’t worry about your friends. They’re going to be busy for a few days. You did say that they’d help me, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Castiel says again. Dean thinks that this whole thing is creepy as hell. 

“Good,” says the man, “Now, go find your father. You had to ask him something, didn’t you?”

Castiel nods and walks away, looking incredibly disoriented, and the man sheathes his dagger. The parrot on his shoulder makes a disgusted sound.

“I can’t wait until you overthrow the sultan and become the ruler, Azazel,” it says in a feminine voice.

“Patience, Lilith,” Azazel tells her, “All good things to those who wait.” 

Lilith scoffs and ruffles her feathers, managing to look incredibly pompous despite the fact that she's a bird. “That's what you've been saying ever since we found _it_ , but so far all patience has done is get two street rats arrested.”

“One of which we need very much, if you'll recall.” Azazel sounds annoyed, and Lilith must sense this too, because she extends her wings in a placating gesture, reminding Dean of someone lifting their hands, palms up. 

“You're right,” she says. “I just want to get this done as soon as possible.”

“We will,” Azaze tells her. “Everything is falling into place, and now all that's left is to visit our two new guests.”

They continue on their way and Dean and Sam wait a few minutes to make sure that no one is coming before they risk speaking. 

“Did you get any of that?” is the first thing Sam says. 

“Castiel is being hypnotized by Yellow Eyes over there, said Yellow Eyes needs us for something, and that bird is the creepiest animal I've ever seen,” Dean says, ticking off each point on his fingers. “Did I miss anything?”

“What are we going to do?” Sam asks. 

“I don't know,” Dean admits. “But we have to do something about Azazel. If he's controlling Castiel like this, who knows what he's been doing to the actual ruler of the sultanate.”

Sam looks disturbed by this. “That's actually a very terrifying thought. He could get away with anything.” 

“But he's not going to, because we're going to stop him.”

“How?” Sam asks skeptically. 

“No idea,” Dean tells him in the same tone as before, full of conviction. He stands to his full height and looks heroically off into the distance. “But we're the only ones who know about this, so it's up to us to save the royals. And the city, indirectly.”

“Again, how?” Sam sounds very done at this point, and has adopted the tone he uses whenever he knows that he can't talk Dean out of whatever crazy plan he's come up with. 

“Using lots of stealth. We're probably going to get arrested or killed on sight now, so—”

But whatever Dean was about to say is cut off when no less than ten guards burst out of the vegetation and surround them, swords aimed at the brothers’ chests. 

“Oh, fuck me,” Dean groans. 

 

Azazel snarls with fury and the guard in front of him flinches back.

“What did you say?” the sorcerer asks, his voice cold as ice.

“Th-the p-prisoners escaped,” the guard stutters, “b-but we captured them again.”

“Where are they now?”

“The d-dungeons.”

Azazel makes a disgusted face and waves a hand towards the door, dismissing the guard. The poor man flees immediately, looking like the hounds of hell are at his heels. 

“Pathetic,” Lilith spits as soon as the door closes behind him. 

“There can be no more hiccups,” Azazel snarls, ignoring the parrot’s comment. “I need that lamp, and I need that boy to get it!”

“Trust me, I know. I was there, remember?” Lilith flits to his other shoulder and picks a bit of lint off of his cape with her beak. “We have the boy, now all we need is to get him to that cave. What could go wrong?”

“So many things,” Azazel replies, but he’s calmer now. He allows himself one moment to let down his guard, slouching and sighing, but then he straightens. “Let’s go visit our guests, shall we?”

 

Dean stopped struggling a while ago, when the chafing of the chains and the strain on his shoulders grew too painful. His hands have been chained above his head for hours, and his entire upper body hurts. The most terrifying part is that his hands long ago grew cold and numb, and Dean fears that he’ll lose them because of the lack of blood flow. 

Sam sits across from him in a similar position. They’re too far apart to touch, which would have been incredibly comforting just now, but they can talk to each other, and that’ll have to be enough. Dean doesn’t think that they’ll be left to starve to death, but the dungeons are damp and cold, and he can hear tiny claws scratching somewhere in the darkness, and he wonders if he’ll die simply because of the atrocious conditions that he and his brother are being kept in.

Sighing, he lets his head fall back onto the wall behind him and closes his eyes. He’s never felt truly helpless before, but sitting there, chained to a wall deep below the palace, he doesn’t know what else to call the cold, empty feeling in his chest. He and Sam have always been able to get out of trouble, but he just can’t see a way out of this.

“We’ll get out of here, Dean,” Sam says suddenly, as if he can sense what Dean is thinking. His words lack conviction, but neither of them mentions it. And all of a sudden Dean is furious. Furious that his brother is going to spend the rest of his life in a dungeon, furious that their lives have been so shitty, furious at their father and that noble who’d hypnotized Castiel, and furious at himself for allowing this to happen in the first place. 

“How?” he shouts angrily. “How are we going to get out of here, Sam? I don’t see any way, and you know why that is?” Sam looks shocked at his outburst, and doesn’t say anything. “It’s because there _is_ no way out! We’re trapped here, and we’re going to stay trapped here until we die, and it’s all my fault!”

Dean sucks in a huge breath and turns his head so that he doesn’t have to see Sam’s wide, hurt eyes. Doing so lets him notice something strange; hidden in the shadows is something that glitters in the low light. He squints in an attempt to make out what it is, and is shocked when he can make out a vaguely human silhouette. 

The person moves towards him, and Dean leans as far back as he can with his arms restrained. 

“Who are you?” he calls warily. Sam notices the person for the first time and frowns.

“A prisoner, same as you,” a scratchy voice replies, and the figure moves into the light. Dean wrinkles his nose with disgust at the man standing in front of him. He’s old, and his scraggly grey beard drags on the ground when he walks. His skin is pale underneath a thick layer of dirt, his nails are long and yellow, and most of his teeth are missing.

“But,” he continues, “that doesn’t mean you and I can’t become more.”

Dean scoffs. “No, thanks,” he says. The man’s eyes gleam, as does his gold tooth when his lips split into a wide grin.

“Are you sure?” he asks, hobbling over to the wall. He uses his walking stick to push at one of the bricks, and it falls through to the other side, taking quite a few more with it and creating a hole large enough for someone to crawl through. On the other side of the wall is what looks like a staircase lit by torchlight.

Dean turns wide eyed to Sam, who mirrors his expression. 

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re chained to the wall,” Dean says dryly. The man pulls a dirty key out of one of the folds of his rags. Dean rolls his eyes. “Of course. Alright, what do you want in return for freeing us?”

“There is a cave, boy,” he says. “A Cave of Wonders, filled with treasures beyond your wildest imagination. I can show it to you, but you’ll need to do me one small favour.”

“Of course,” Sam groans. “What do you want?”

“In the cave, there is said to be a lamp. Bring it to me, and you can keep anything else you want.”

Dean and Sam give each other unimpressed looks. “Yeah, sure,” Dean says, “That’s not suspicious at all.”

“It’s not like we have a choice, Dean,” Sam murmurs, and Dean sighs. 

“Ugh, I know I’m going to regret this,” he groans quietly. “Fine. We have a deal.”

The old man lets out a wheezing laugh and waddles over to Dean to unlock his cuffs. Once he’s free, Dean immediately starts rubbing his wrists to get the blood flowing again. 

“Shall we?” the old man asks, and Dean gives him an incredulous look.

“No?” he says, “You haven’t freed my brother. I’m not going anywhere without him.”

Sam shoots Dean a grateful look even as the old man—should that be capitalized? It’s not like they know his actual name, so Old Man will have to do for now—even as the Old Man makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. But he still unlocks Sam’s restraints too, and then the three of them finally leave their cell. 

Sam grabs one of the torches and leads the way, and Dean puts the Old Man in between them so that he can watch out for any nefarious backstabbing. He doesn’t trust the Old Man because he’s not an idiot, but at the same time he can’t help but see the logic in his reasoning. He wants this lamp for some reason, and so he needs someone young and able to go get it for him. Dean wonders why this lamp is so special. What kind of lamp is worth all the riches someone could want? 

He’s brought out of his thoughts when they reach the end of the tunnel. Sam pushes open the creaky wooden door, and they all blink against the onslaught of dust that cascades down from the ceiling. They exit the tunnel, and find themselves behind what appears to be the stables. 

“Hurry,” the Old Man whispers urgently, his voice rough as sandpaper, “We’ll need transportation; the cave is far outside the city.”

Oh, lovely. Dean didn’t really sign up for a road trip. When the Old Man had said “cave”, Dean had been expecting . . . a drug den or something, to be completely honest. But outside the city? He’s never even been to the outer walls. But it’s not like he has anything going for him here, so what is there to lose? 

Except . . . that creepy Azazel dude is planning on overthrowing the sultan, and is already hypnotizing Castiel to do it. Dean is still peeved that he and Sam got thrown into a dungeon, but it wasn’t really Castiel’s fault. Besides, if he were being hypnotized, he’d want someone to help him, and it’s not like anyone else knows. 

But is there even anything he can do? He doesn’t have any kind of power, and he’s a wanted criminal, for Allah’s sake. Although, someone once told him that “whoever has the gold makes the rules”. If he were rich enough, he could do anything he wanted, including whatever’s necessary to save the prince and the sultanate. 

Okay, so. He needs money to stop Azazel, and he needs to go outside the city with this creepy old man on a possibly life-threatening journey in order to get the money. Erego, he has no choice but to go. _Sigh._

All of these thoughts run through his head fast as lightning, and it isn’t even a few seconds after the Old Man speaks that Dean sighs out loud and says: “Of course it is. Alright, let’s go, then.”

They sneak into the stables and make immediately for the camels in the back. They’re better suited for the harsh desert conditions than horses, and are less likely to be missed since they’re also easier to come by than horses. They saddle the two strongest looking camels, and then quietly lead them from the stables. 

From there, it’s worryingly easy to sneak to the service door in the palace walls then through the maze of city streets to the outer walls. The door is guarded and locked, of course, but the Old Man knows a secret door. Convenient and suspicious, but Dean doesn’t say anything about it. 

The desert is windy tonight, and Dean has to squint just to see. Sam isn’t faring any better, but the Old Man is riding on one of the camels and using its neck to block most of the wind and sand. Dean would complain, but if he opens his mouth it’ll get full of sand, so he doesn’t. 

After a few hours—actually, he doesn’t know exactly how long it’s been, but the sky is starting to lighten, which means the sun can’t be far behind—they reach a suspiciously large mound of sand. The Old Man calls for a halt, and Dean and Sam exchange looks. 

“This is the cave?” Dean says skeptically. “It’s just sand.”

“Ah ah,” the Old Man chides, smirking, “Things are not always what they seem.”

From his rags he pulls something small that glitters in the watery light. He gives it a little rub, and it sparks to life and springs from his hand. It’s a scarab, but it leaves a glowing trail of gold dust in its wake as it flits towards the mound. Dean’s eyes widen and he takes a step back when the mound starts to move once the scarab touches it. 

Thunder sounds, lightning strikes, and the wind picks up and swirls sand around them violently as the mound shifts, rises, forms a vaguely familiar shape. The camels low in fear and bolt, throwing the Old Man into the sand as they do. The shape solidifies into the head of a tiger, the eyes glowing and the mouth open wide. A golden light comes from its throat, but Dean only gets a glimpse of stairs before the tiger speaks.

 _“Who disturbs my slumber?”_ it says. Its voice is low, both in pitch and volume, though it also resonates like the echo of thunder. It reminds Dean of the desert around them with its soft, almost grainy quality. 

He peers behind him at the Old Man, who nods and gesticulates encouragingly. 

“Um, I’m Dean. This is Sam,” Dean says, pointing to each of them in turn. Sam smiles and gives an awkward little wave.

 _“Proceed,”_ the tiger—cave?—rumbles. _“Touch nothing but the lamp.”_

Dean hums. “Sure, okay,” he says. Then he spins around to face the Old Man and puts his hands on his hips. “What the fuck, dude?”

But the Old Man merely smiles, and makes a shooing motion with his hand. “Go on,” he says, “You’ll be fine.”

“Uh, did you miss the part where the sand became a tiger and spoke to me? Because that’s not really normal.”

“Trust me,” the Old Man grins, revealing a gold tooth.“You’ll be _fine_.”

Dean narrows his eyes and studies the man for a moment. “Fine,” he says after a few moments, “But if I die I’m coming back to haunt your ass.”

He turns back to the cave and walks up to stand next to Sam, who’s been studying the tiger this entire time. 

“Ready?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Sam says, “This’ll be fun. Potential death. Yay.”

“Okay, that’s enough, Sir Sass-a-lot.” Together, they take deep breaths and then start down the stairs. 

… oO()Oo … 

The stairs were extremely dangerous and terrifying (“Who the fuck makes stairs this high up without putting a rail or something?”), the room filled with gold was tempting (“Dean, don’t touch anything! Remember what the tiger said.”), and the magic carpet was actually pretty cool and helpful (“I’m gonna name it Carpet.” “Great name, Dean. Really original.”). 

The real problems begin when they get to the actual lamp. 

“There is no way I’m hopping across those tiny ass rocks and walking up those steep ass stairs for some grungy ass lamp,” Dean announces, staring into the dark water surrounding the lamp’s pedestal. Sam rolls his eyes. 

“Fine, I’ll go,” he says, “Just stay here, okay? Don’t touch anything.”

“I heard you the first time,” Dean says as Sam starts hopping his way to the stairs. Dean watches to make sure he doesn’t fall into the water, and then when Sam waves to let him know that everything’s fine, he gets bored and starts exploring. 

Immediately to his right is a big golden monkey statue. In the monkey’s hands is a giant ruby, and Dean’s eyes widen when he sees it.

“Whoa,” he says softly, taking a step closer to it. Everything else fades into the background as he walks, almost as if in a trance. Some distant part of him is trying to let him know that something’s not right, but Dean can’t really be bothered to listen to that voice, not when this enormous gem is beckoning to him so sweetly. 

In his peripheral vision, he sees Carpet have a freakout, and thinks that if carpets could scream, this one would be. It flies over to him and wraps itself around his legs, successfully tripping him up, but Dean only shakes it off and reaches for the gem.

“Dean, no!” Sam yells, but it’s too late. Dean grabs the gem and grins widely. 

_“Infidels!”_ the tiger roars, the sound coming from everywhere at once and making them all flinch. Everything starts shaking, and tiny pieces of rock dislodge from the ceiling and rain down on them. _“You have touched the Forbidden Treasure!”_

“Shit!” Dean quickly puts the ruby back, but instead of stopping the mini-earthquake, it only seems to make it worse. The ruby bursts into flames and melts, as does the monkey statue. Dean dodges just in time to avoid getting crushed by it. 

_“Now you will never again see the light of day!”_

Dean hears a shout from Sam and turns just in time to see the top of the pedestal burst into flames. The water turns to lava, huge chunks of rock fall from the ceiling, and the staircase turns into a slide. Dean watches in horror as his baby brother is thrown up into the air, right over the lava lake. 

He runs, but he’s not going to make it in time, and then Carpet is there and Sam is safe, but he’s not because the rocks are being consumed by lava and _holy shit he’s going to die._

“Dean!” comes a shout from above him, and Dean stretches his arm out just in time to grab Sam’s. He’s weightless for a moment, and then he’s sitting firmly behind his brother as Carpet rushes them towards the exit.

The lava follows them, and Dean can feel its heat as it gains more and more ground. Carpet is fast and the wave is faster, but just before they’re all consumed, they hit a dead end. Sam gasps, Dean shuts his eyes, and Carpet makes a ninety degree turn and starts flying straight down. 

They make a complicated little loop when they reach the ground, and then they’re in the room with all the gold. Huge columns of flame burst out of the lava and they’re almost roasted multiple times, but Carpet is very good at dodging. They finally reach the mouth of the cave; the staircase crumbles away into nothing, and Carpet is too slow to dodge a rock that falls from the suddenly-a-lot-closer ceiling. 

Sam and Dean go flying when Carpet is all of a sudden not underneath them anymore, and manage to grab ahold of a protruding bit of rock close to the cave mouth. The Old Man appears and beckons to them urgently. 

“Help us up!” Dean cries. 

“Give me the lamp!” the Old Man yells back.

“We can’t hold on for much longer!” Sam shouts, but the Old Man doesn’t seem to care.

“The lamp, boy!” he says, and Sam reaches into his pocket to hand him the lamp. When the Old Man has grabbed it, Sam pulls himself up and then reaches back for Dean, but he’s stopped by the Old Man.

“Not so fast!” he says gleefully, pulling out a familiar dagger. Dean gasps as it rushes towards Sam’s back. He darts into motion, tackling the man into the ground. He shouts in pain and anger, and in a feat of incredible strength, flings Dean into Sam, knocking them both back into the cave. 

Dean slams against the wall and then everything goes black.

 

Azazel can’t help his cackling, even as he has to walk all the way home. It takes hours, but it’s worth it. He has the lamp, finally! The last piece of the puzzle has slid into place, and now all that’s left to do is release the genie and cash in on his three wishes. 

When he gets back to the sultanate, he sheds his old man disguise and gets the guards at the front gates to let him in. The sun is high in the sky, and the sultan is probably wondering where he is, but Azazel takes the service entrance into the palace so that he can avoid curious eyes.

After a long, relaxing bath, he retires to his room and reaches into the pocket of his tattered cloak to retrieve the lamp.

The pocket is empty. 

His heart stops and his breath stutters when he notices the hole in the bottom of the pocket. 

“No! No no no no no no NO!” he shouts furiously. Lilith abandons his shoulder and wisely hides underneath the bed. Azazel’s teeth grit together and his eyes feel like they’re going to burst from how much tension is in his body right now, and he lets out a loud, angry scream. _“CONFOUND IT ALL!”_

He throws a tantrum (though he’ll never admit that to anyone), and by the time he leaves his room an hour later his anger is more under control, but he’ll need new pillows and chairs. Of course, the first person he runs into is Castiel. He frowns when he sees how angry Azazel is, but comes up to him anyway. 

“What is it?” he snaps, too furious to even bother to pretend to be respectful. 

Castiel seems taken aback, and he narrows his eyes. “Those two boys you arrested,” he says. “What happened to them?” 

Azazel stifles an irritated groan. Of course he would remember right now.

“They were executed,” he snaps. 

Castiel looks shocked. “But . . . you said you needed their help with something,” he says.

“Yes, that was before I figured out that they were criminals. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything else as Azazel rudely pushes past him. If he were in a better mood, he would have stayed to try and soothe the prince or hypnotize him to forget so that there would be no lingering animosity between them from Castiel’s end of their… relationship, but as it is, he’s still incredibly pissed off, even if he’s in control of his emotions enough to be able to hide it.

He stalks around the palace grounds for an hour or so, thinking. There’s nothing he can do about the lamp now except hope he didn’t drop it in the city. God, if one of those peasants found _his_ lamp. . . . But there’s no use crying about it now. At least all the loose ends from his failed plan were tied up. No one knows where the lamp is (or that it even exists), and those street rats that he sent into the Cave of Wonders are most likely dead and no one will miss them, except for Castiel, who thinks they’re dead. 

Well, it looks like it’s time to move on to plan B. This one is more likely to succeed than the first one had been, and is definitely less difficult, but will take more time. After all, he can’t simply hypnotize the royals and have them transfer all the power to him; that’s too suspicious. He’ll first have to get them out of the way, permanently. He wouldn’t mind having to kill the sultan, but the prince is another story. It would be too suspicious if they both died.

Azazel snaps his fingers as an idea comes to him. After the sultan dies, Castiel will “run away” out of grief and never show his face here again. It’s perfect! Now all he must do is start acquiring more and more power so that the people won’t think it odd when the sultan’s throne is given to him. Maybe if the sultan gets sick and starts giving more of the responsibilities of ruling a kingdom to his most trusted advisor. . . .

Yes, that’ll work nicely. Azazel smiles, and one of the servant girls walking past him pales and walks faster. 

 

When Dean wakes up with a splitting headache and rather extreme sensitivity to noise, he makes himself a promise to never drink again that he knows he’s not going to keep, even if the hangovers are never worth it. He scrunches his eyes closed even further and shifts, confused to find himself on the hard ground. He must have fallen off the bed last night, which is unfortunate. There’s a rock digging into his shoulder, but he’s in no condition to move off of it. He’ll probably feel better after a few more hours of sleep, so he sighs and starts to doze off again.

“Dean! Wake up!” 

Okay, now he’s irritated. “G’way,” he mumbles. “J’st gimme few more min’tes.”

“No, don’t go back to sleep,” Sam says urgently, “You have to stay awake.”

“Why?” Dean snaps.

“Because I don’t know if you have a concussion or not.” Now that’s a weird thing to say. Dean lifts his head to tell his brother so, but then all the memories of the last few hours rush back and he sits up, then groans in pain as the blood rushes from his head. “Whoa, easy.”

Sam helps him into a sitting position, and Dean blearily looks around. They’re encased in rock, though there’s enough space—and therefore, air—that they shouldn’t feel claustrophobic or suffocate anytime soon. He hopes. He doesn’t really know how long he was out, and so can’t even begin to guess how much of their air they’ve used up, but he hopes it’s not a lot. 

“Does your head still hurt?” Sam asks, and Dean winces when he feels a finger probe at his skull.

“Yes, so get off,” he grumbles. The good news is, he’s not bleeding. The bad news is, he doesn’t know if he’s bleeding on the inside, or actually has a concussion. Oh, well. Nothing he can do about it now. Carpet flies up to them and sits next to Dean, resting its—face?—on its hand-tassels.

It gives a half-hearted salute to Dean, who waves cautiously in response. He still doesn’t trust the carpet. He thinks it’s pretty smart to not trust anything that can think for itself if you can’t see where it keeps its brain. Although, he doesn’t know why he’s focusing solely on the carpet. He was just swallowed by a magic talking tiger head made of sand, after all, and that’s also pretty weird. But thinking about all of this is making head hurt, so he settles for watching Sam instead.

“Find anything?” Sam asks, and Carpet shakes its “head” no. Sam sighs and sits next to Dean. 

“Ugh, this is the worst,” Dean complains, “I can’t believe we did all this for a stupid lamp. We didn’t even get to keep the lamp! Some light would be great right now, I can barely see a foot in front of my face.”

“Actually,” Sam says, and Dean hears him rummage around for a second. Then there’s a glint of something gold, and Dean laughs.

“You managed to keep that stupid thing?” he asks incredulously. Carpet goes ramrod straight and gestures frantically to Sam.

“What is it, buddy?”

Carpet holds one tassel stationary in the air and rubs it vigorously with the other. 

“Yeah, it is pretty dirty,” Sam agrees. Carpet throws its tassel-hands up in a why-do-I-even-bother gesture and slumps back down. Dean scoffs.

“No, you egghead,” he says, snatching the lamp. “He wanted you to clean if off, like this.” He starts brushing dust off of the lamp, frowning and rubbing harder when he feels how caked on it is. The lamp trembles and grows hot all of a sudden, and Dean drops it in shock. 

“Holy shit,” Sam gasps as they edge away from the now glowing lamp. Sparks fly from its nozzle, and it makes a high pitched whistling sound. Smoke billows out next, and Dean thinks wildly that they’re going to run out of air sooner than he thought. But he frowns when he really studies the smoke.

It’s a strange golden colour, and it’s forming a shape, much like the sand tiger had only a few hours before. Dean makes out what looks like an arm, a torso, a head, and then there’s a huge clap of thunder and the smoke solidifies, forming what is unmistakeable a person, albeit a fifty foot tall, glowing person. 

“Who dares disturb my slumber?” a thunderous voice booms.

Dean and Sam flinch. “Uh,” Dean says intelligently, and the figure turns glowing red eyes on him. Dean pales. 

“Oh, shit,” Sam whispers. 

The figure stares for a few more seconds, then bursts into laughter that rises in pitch and lowers in volume as he shrinks and grows lighter. In the span of a few seconds, there’s a completely normal sized glowing man standing in front of them. Except, he’s a little shorter than most men, and he’s not really standing because below his waist is a tail that tapers off into smoke, but whatever. Technicalities.

“Oh, you should’ve seen your faces,” the man gasps, still giggling. “You looked like you were going to crap yourself.”

“What the hell?” Dean says.

“I don’t know,” Sam replies. 

“No, seriously, what the hell?”

“I don’t know,” Sam says again.

“Uh, guys?” The man waves a hand at them, amusement dancing in his eyes. He looks human, but his skin is still gold and glowing, and he still has a tail, and he’s still floating a foot or two off the ground. “Are you done? Because it looks like I need to give an explanation.”

“Uh, you think?” Dean says sarcastically. 

“Well, excuse me,” the man says back, cocking his hips to the side and crossing his arms, “You can put that attitude away, because no one asked for it. It’s not my fault you rubbed my lamp without knowing what you were doing.”

Dean snickers. “Rubbed my lamp,” he repeats, grinning, “Was that an innuendo?”

The glowing man pauses, blinks, then grins suggestively. “Maybe it was,” he says, “But we can explore that later. For now, you probably want to know what the hell is going on.”

“Yes, please,” Sam says, drawing the man’s attention for the first time.

“Ooh, cute and polite.”

“Oi,” Dean says, “Explanation?”

“Okay, okay, geez. You guys are no fun.” He pouts for a second, looks around, then brightens. Literally. “No way, is that Carpet?”

The carpet zooms by Sam and Dean and flies fight up to the man, looking about as excited as it’s possible for a carpet to be. 

“What’s going on, dude? I haven’t seen you since the last time I busted out of there,” he says, pointing to the lamp. Carpet makes a few gestures that are too fast for Sam and Dean to understand, but the glowing man seems to understand because he nods every few seconds. “Oh, I see,” he says when Carpet finishes. “Damn, these two boneheads seem like real trouble magnets.”

Carpet nods. 

“Hey!” Dean shouts, “Can someone explain what the fuck is going on before we all die of old age?”

“Or suffocation,” Sam adds. 

“Really not helping, Sammy.”

“Well, good news for me is that I’m not affected by either and can get out of here whenever I want.”

“And why is that?” Dean asks. The man narrows his eyes like he’s not sure if Dean is messing with him or if he’s just really that dumb.

“Because I’m a genie?” he says. “Like, unlimited cosmic powers, grants you three wishes? Ringing any bells up in there?”

“A genie,” Dean repeats, deadpan, “And we have three wishes?”

“Well, you do, since you’re the one who released me when you rubbed the lamp. The name’s Gabriel, by the way.”

“Gabriel the genie?” Sam says, one eyebrow raised. “That’s kind of unfortunate.”

“So’s that hairdo, but that apparently didn’t stop you,” Gabriel snaps. Carpet pats his shoulder sympathetically. “Anyway, the gist of it is, you have three wishes, use them wisely, great power, great responsibility, and all that jazz.”

“So I can wish for any three things I want?” Dean asks. Gabriel snaps and a large hammock appears in midair; he floats up to it and settles with his hands pillowing his head. 

“Not necessarily,” he says, swinging lazily. “You can’t wish for more wishes, you can’t wish for someone to fall in love with you, and you can’t wish to reanimate the dead. Trust me on that last one, zombies are not pretty.”

“Wait, how do you have unlimited cosmic power that comes with rules?” Sam asks. “That’s oxymoronical.”

“Yeah, you’re some kind of moron, alright,” Gabriel says, “And I didn’t come up with the rules. You want to complain, take it up with whatever cosmic power made the genies.”

Genies, plural. Apparently, there was more than one. “How many of you are there?” Dean asks.

“Not sure, actually,” Gabriel says. He starts counting on his fingers, muttering names to himself, and by the time he’s finished there’s at least nineteen fingers on one hand. They disappear in a puff of pink smoke. “At least nineteen. Oh, wait! Make that twenty. Forgot about Norm. Not sure how. That dude’s the best. He lives in a lava lamp.”

He grins at Carpet, who looks like it’d be rolling its eyes if it had any.

“So, mortals,” Gabriel starts.

“Our names are Sam and Dean,” Sam says.

“So, Sam and Dean the mortals,” Gabriel says. “What are your three wishes?”

Sam and Dean look at each other. 

Dean jerks his head towards Gabriel, then raises an eyebrow. _You think this guy is legit?_

Sam gives Dean an incredulous look. _Of course he is._

Dean nods, then frowns and tilts his head to the side. _Okay, okay. So, what are we going to do?_

Sam bites his lip, frowns, grimaces. _Not a lot of options._

Dean holds up three fingers. _Only three wishes._ He taps his chin, looks at Gabriel, then smirks. _We need to trick him._

Sam nods once, then widens his eyes as an idea comes to him. _I’ve got it!_

Gabriel watches them curiously. “Okay, that’s kind of freaky,” he says, “There’s some serious twinception going on. Except, you guys aren’t twins, are you?”

Sam and Dean look at him like he’s crazy, but ignore his comments otherwise.

“Alright, _Gabriel_ ,” Dean says, “We don’t know that we can trust you. I mean, how do we even know that you can actually do all the things you say you can?”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah,” Sam chimes in, “All you’ve done so far is smoke yourself out of a lamp and create a hammock. Not exactly impressive magic. I’ve seen better.”

Gabriel puffs up indignantly. “You want proof? Fine, I’ll give you proof. Hold on to your enchiladas, girls, because we’re busting out of here!”

He grows until he’s as tall as the cavern they’re in, and then he starts to glow brighter and brighter. Carpet hurries over to them and motions for them to climb on, so they do. Strange little cracks of energy start bursting into existence around Gabriel, creating a bubble of light. Gabriel crouches—oh, he actually can create legs. _Huh_ —and jumps straight up, and the energy field around him dissolves the rock like a hot knife through butter. 

Carpet flies after him, taking Sam and Dean with it, and in no time at all they’re back above ground. But Gabriel doesn’t stop there. He keeps going, leading them far out into the desert, looking like a shooting star with how fast and bright he is. Even Carpet has a hard time keeping up, and by the time they land in some random oasis, the poor thing looks about ready to collapse. 

Gabriel has another hammock set up between two trees and is sipping lazily at some brightly coloured drink. 

“Took you nerds long enough,” he said. “Also, no more freebies, okay? I get that loopholes are a thing and this is the closest you can get to breaking the ‘no wishing for more wishes’ rule, but let’s take it down a notch.”

Dean grins, entirely unashamed, but Sam at least looks a little guilty. 

“So,” Gabriel says. He rolls out of the hammock and ends up floating in midair on his stomach at eye level with Dean. “What are your wishes?”

Dean frowns. “I don’t . . . actually know.”

“Of course you don’t,” Gabriel sighs. His tail solidifies into two legs and he lands fully on the sand; he doesn’t leave footprints when he walks. “There has to be something. Immeasurable wealth, boundless strength, a way to impress some girl, something! Throw me a bone here!”

“Well,” Dean says. “There is one thing.”

“Yes! Tell me, tell me, tell me!” Gabriel bounces up and down like a kid receiving a present. Dean raises an eyebrow at him, and looks to Sam to see his reaction, but the younger of the two is staring at Gabriel with an indecipherable look on his face. Dean shrugs and ignores it.

“The prince of the sultanate where we live is in trouble,” Dean explains. “He—and maybe his father, too, actually—they’re being hypnotized by this creepy dude who wants to take over the throne.”

“Sounds problematic,” Gabriel says. “So, what’s your wish? For Creepy Dude to disappear? For him to not be able to use magic anymore?”

Dean looks at Sam and they hold another silent conversation. 

“Actually,” he says, turning back to the genie, “We want to be princes so we can get into the palace.”

“Ooh, ambitious. I like it.” Gabriel raises a single finger and tilts his head like he’s going to say something, but then he pauses and gives Dean a sly look. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the prince, would it?”

Dean blushes, but manages to say “Maybe.”

“Definitely,” Sam corrects.

“Shut up, Samantha,” Dean grumbles. 

Gabriel chuckles. 

“Alright, I’ll make you both princes so you can woo the real one,” he says, then pretends like he’s pushing his sleeves up even though his red vest is sleeveless. “Hold onto your hats, boys!” His face turns serious and he looks dramatically off into the distance. “It’s time to make some magic,” he says like he’s announcing the next coming of the Prophet. 

Sparks fly from his fingers, his eyes glow red, and Dean wonders if he’s made a huge mistake.

 

After Azazel tells Castiel what became of Sam and Dean, the prince locks himself in his room and refuses to come out. His guilt feels all-consuming, as does his grief. He’s gotten two boys killed, and for what? He can’t even remember why he’d thought it was a good idea to bring them to Azazel. He knew they were thieves, he knew stealing was against the law, and he did it anyway. And now they’re dead, and it’s all his fault.

The next morning, he emerges from his room looking immaculate like normal, like he hadn’t spent the entire night crying. He eats breakfast with his father, who has another headache and is already nursing a goblet of arak. He spends the hours leading up to lunch sitting on his balcony, staring out at the city and wishing he’d never left the palace grounds in the first place. Maybe then none of this would have happened.

“There’s no use in living in the past,” he tells himself firmly, “There’s nothing you can do about it now, so it’s best to just move on.”

With that in mind, he leaves his room and makes his way to the throne room, where Chuck could usually be found when he was awake. Sure enough, the sultan is sitting in his throne, reading through some contract or law proposal. Azazel stands at his shoulder, occasionally pointing something on the document out and making quiet comments. Castiel flops down into his own throne and closes his eyes. 

The murmuring of Chuck and Azazel is soothing, and he finds himself relaxing fully for the first time since finding out about what happened to Sam and Dean. 

It can't be more than a few minutes later that Castiel is roused from his doze. He sits up in his chair and looks around, confused. Nothing has changed; Chuck and Azazel are still going over documents, and so he doesn't know what had disturbed him. 

But then he hears it, a loud, rhythmic thumping sound. Neither of the other two men in the room react at all, and Castiel figures that they're too absorbed in their task. The thumping grows louder, things in the room start shaking every time one sounds, and Chuck and Azazel finally look up. 

“What is that noise?” Chuck says irritatedly. Azazel looks just as annoyed, and he leaves the room, presumably to investigate. A few moments later, he comes running—literally running—back and slides to a stop in the doorway. Lilith flaps her wings madly to stay on his shoulder, and Castiel feels kind of bad for the poor bird. It can't be easy having someone like Azazel as a master. 

“Your Excellency, you probably want to come see this,” he says breathlessly, and Chuck and Castiel exchange confused looks. They get up and hurry after Azazel, who leads them to one of the small balconies that are dotted around the outside of the palace. 

It's not hard to find what Azazel wants to show them. The parade is small, but so noisy that Castiel is surprise they didn't hear it earlier. The people are going crazy, cheering and screaming as the elephant meanders through the streets. Behind it walks camels and horses and… are those peacocks?

Chuck chugs the rest of his arak. 

“What is going on?” Castiel asks, his eyes never leaving the parade. It's obviously heading for the palace, and Castiel feels a stirring of anxiety in his stomach, even though the parade obviously doesn't mean any ill will. 

“I'm not sure,” Azazel admits. “Perhaps it would be best if you and the sultan retired to your rooms with a few guards for the time being.”

“Nonsense,” Chuck says tiredly. “What kind of host would I be if I didn't even greet guests when they came to my home?”

“Father, maybe Azazel is right about this,” Castiel says cautiously. He can just barely make out two figures riding on the back of the elephant, but they're too far away for him to see any details. 

“You are more than welcome to follow his advice, if you wish,” Chuck says. He sets down his cup on the railing of the balcony and heads back inside. Azazel and Castiel follow him. 

They end up waiting in the front hall for another eight minutes (Castiel was counting) before the procession makes it to the palace gates. Each thump that marks the elephant’s footsteps makes Castiel’s heart pound just a bit faster, and it's definitely not doing anything good to his anxiety. 

He manages to compose himself by the time the procession arrives at the gates, and Chuck motions for the guards to let them in. A few moments later, the heavy wooden gates open and two people walk into the palace. 

Castiel frowns. Where did the elephants and camels and peacocks go? Chuck doesn't seem concerned about that, but then again, Chuck probably has a headache and just wants to get this out of the way so he can finish what he was doing and get to sleep. 

“Welcome,” he says to the two strangers. “It's not often that we get visitors in our little city. Who might you be, and what is your business here?”

The two strangers step forward and Castiel quickly studies them. Both of them are dressed in finely tailored white clothes, turbans, and capes. The taller of the two’s clothing is decorated with red accents, while the shorter of the two’s are decorated with green. Castiel’s eyes lift up to their faces and widen with shock. These two look exactly like Sam and Dean. If he wasn't sure that the two brothers had been killed, he would've thought that these two were them. 

Castiel looks to Azazel. The advisor seems to have realized the same thing that Castiel did; he watches the strangers warily as they approach the sultan and bow low. The guards that had been guarding the gates step forward, silently warning them not to get too close, but the strangers pay them no mind. 

“Your Majesty,” not-Dean says. “My name is John, and this is my brother Robert. We come from a kingdom so far from here that you probably haven't heard of it. These past few years, we've been traveling and visiting new places, and we were hoping that we'd be lucky enough to add the name of this sultanate to our list of friendly lands.”

“Of course,” Chuck says, “You are more than welcome to stay here as long as you'd like. Now, I am busy at the moment, but I look forward to talking more during lunch. My son will show you to the rooms you may use for the duration of your stay. If you need anything, feel free to ask anyone. We'd all be happy to assist you.”

Castiel starts a little when he’s mentioned, but he nods in agreement with what Chuck said. 

“If you'll follow me,” he says. John and Robert bow once more to Chuck, nod to Azazel, and then follow Castiel into the palace proper. “I am Prince Castiel. I know my father had already said this, but I would like to personally extend this invitation: if you ever need anything at all, I am always willing to assist you.”

“Thank you very much,” Robert says. He looks around the palace interior with interest as Castiel leads them through hallways and courtyards and up ornately carved marble stairs. “This palace is gorgeous. The most beautiful we've ever been in, I must say. Certainly more lovely than our own.”

“Oh, are you royalty as well?” Castiel asks. 

“Not by blood, but we were raised by the royal family alongside their own sons and daughter, and so we are treated with all the respect and given all the power that the actual princes have,” John explains. 

“Ah,” Castiel says, “And where did you say you are from, again?”

There's a quick hesitation by both princes, but it's so short that Castiel wonders if he imagined it. 

“Lawrence,” John finally says. “Our kingdom is called Lawrence.”

It's unfamiliar to Castiel, which is odd because he had to learn all he could about all the surrounding kingdoms when he was younger. 

“You're right, I've never heard of it,” he says. They reach one of the guest rooms, though it's not technically a room since it's not attached to the palace itself. 

In one of the courtyards sits a small row of structures that are little more than four walls and a domed roof, but the insides are colourful and comfortable. Each one has a large, plush bed, numerous pillows, and a few soft blankets. There are no doors, only curtains that can cover the open doorways. Castiel stops at the doorway of the first one.

“You may choose whichever room, or rooms, you like,” he says. “Lunch is in less than an hour, and a servant will come get you and lead you to the dining room.”

“Thank you very much,” John says. 

Castiel gives him a wan smile. 

“It’s no problem at all.” With a nod to both of them he takes his leave. As soon as he’s out of view, he leans against the nearest wall and takes a shaky breath. They look exactly like Sam and Dean, with only a few slight differences that he’d noticed when he was face to face with them.

John’s eyes are brown, not anything close to Dean’s vibrant green ones, and his hair is a darker shade of brown rather than dirty blond. He doesn’t have freckles, either. Robert’s hair is darker than Sam’s had been, closer to black than brown. His eyes are icy blue instead of hazel. The face structures and body builds are the only things similar to Sam and Dean. Even their voices are slightly off. 

Castiel is probably just projecting his desires onto the situation. He wants Dean and Sam to not be dead, so his brain is making John and Robert look more like the them. He’ll just have to ignore it. He nods decisively to himself and starts the suddenly very long walk back to his room. 

 

Dean is incredibly shocked that the sultan let him and Sam into the palace. His lie had been flimsy as hell, and he’d been sure that they’d be arrested and thrown back into that filthy dungeon. But here he is, sitting on the plushest bed he’d ever felt, dressed in clothes made of silk and munching on one of the apples that had been sitting in a bowl on the table. 

The curtains is drawn across the doorway to give them some privacy, and Gabriel is back out of the lamp that Dean had tucked into his turban. The genie is meandering around the room, studying the decor.

“I’m surprised they let us in,” Sam says from where he’s sitting on the sill of one of the windows. 

“That makes two of us,” Dean tells him. 

Gabriel scoffs. “Oh, please,” he says. “There was never any danger of you guys not getting in. You said, and I quote: ‘I wish for us to be princes’. Now, there were so many ways I could have fucked that up for you—newsflash! If you don’t specify what it is you want, you probably won’t like the results—but I’m a nice guy and you two are alright, so I gave you what you wanted. I didn’t half-ass it, either.”

“Wait,” Sam says, frowning thoughtfully. “What does that mean?”

“It means that as far as anyone else knows, you two are actually princes. No one will be able to prove that you’re not as long as I’m around. I mean, people will definitely suspect, but your secret is safe.”

“Oh, cool,” Dean says. He looks around for a moment. “So . . . now what?”

“Oh my god,” Gabriel mutters to himself, “You’re hopeless. I’ve fulfilled my part of this wish, so I’m going out. Rub the lamp if you need something. And for the love of all things holy, don’t lose the lamp!”

“We’re not idiots,” Dean snaps at the same time Sam says, “Wait, where are you going? You can’t be seen!”

“Relax, kiddo,” Gabriel says. “I’m a genie. If I don’t want to be seen, I won’t be seen.”

He winks, snaps his fingers, and in a puff of gold smoke, he disappears. In his place is a tiny yellow bird that chirps once at them before flitting out the window. Dean stares after him for a second, then turns to Sam.

“But seriously,” he says. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” Sam replies, shrugging. “I didn’t think we were going to get this far, honestly. But I guess now we have to think of a way to expose Azazel.”

“Right, and how are we going to do that?”

Sam shrugs again and Dean throws his hands up into the air. 

“Let’s start with gaining Castiel’s trust,” Sam suggests. “That’s as good a place as any to begin, right?”

“I guess,” Dean mutters. 

… oO()Oo …

It turns out that first day was the easiest. After that, there was a persistent sense of “awkward” that settled over the palace and refused to leave. Sam and Dean, because they were supposed to be visiting the city for the first time, got a tour and were given a few days to experience all there was to experience, but after that it was clear that everyone was expecting them to leave soon. 

The brothers ignored it, for the most part, and Dean ended up using his second wish to make sure that they’d be able to stay at the palace as long as they wanted. Castiel was also acting weird around them, refusing to look at them unless necessary and avoiding them. It made Dean’s plan of getting close to Castiel hard.

And even worse than that, Azazel hadn’t shown any signs of magic or ill intent, which made Sam and Dean start doubting themselves and their reasons for being there in the first place. The days dragged by, with Dean trying and failing to get closer to the prince and both he and Sam getting more and more paranoid as time went on.

But they had a breakthrough (of sorts) about a week after they were first welcomed into the palace. Castiel stopped actively avoiding Dean and even went so far as to seek him out once or twice to hang out. Sam said that the prince was developing a crush, and Dean had to agree because every time he smiled, laughed, or stretched in front of Castiel, the prince’s cheeks would turn bright red and he’d start stammering. Dean had even caught him staring a few times.

“This is a good thing. This will make it easier to convince Castiel that Azazel is hypnotising him,” Sam had told him more than once, but Dean was starting to feel . . . guilty about all the lies. The more time he spent with Castiel, the more he learned about him, the more he wanted to tell him the truth. He had already accepted the fact that he felt something for the prince, but there was always that nagging voice in the back of his head that reminded him that though he was getting to know the real Castiel, there would always be a ginormous lie in between them that would ensure Castiel never got to know the real Dean.

And it sucks. 

“I’ve been thinking,” he says after dinner one day, an entire month after they first introduced themselves as princes.

“I wouldn’t do too much of that if I were you,” Gabriel says from where he’s sprawled on the bed, “You might hurt yourself.”

Dean throws him a half-hearted glare and continues, saying, “Maybe we should tell Castiel the truth.”

Sam promptly chokes on the water he was sipping at and even Gabriel gives him a wide-eyed look.

“Are you insane?” the genie hisses. “How the hell do you think that’s going to go? ‘Yeah, so I’m not actually a prince and I’ve been using genie magic to lie to you and your dad so that I could save you from the sultan’s most trusted advisor who may or may not be hypnotising you.’ You’ll get thrown back in jail, or killed on the spot!”

“I hate to say this, but Gabriel’s right,” Sam adds in, wiping water from his chin. “We’re in too deep to just back out now.”

Dean groans and throws himself onto the bed, narrowly avoiding landing on Gabriel. 

“I know,” he sighs, “I just hate having to lie to him.”

There’s no need to ask who this “him” is. For a moment, they’re all silent.

“We have to be sure about Azazel first,” Sam says softly. “Then we can tell him the truth. But we haven’t seen any proof that Azazel’s actually doing anything.”

“We heard him, and saw him, hypnotise Cas a month ago!” Dean exclaims. “What other proof do we need? Sure, he hasn’t done anything else since then, but that could just be because we’re here.”

“He does have a point,” Gabriel says, “but, honestly, this whole thing was half-assed to begin with. I mean, what was your plan? Infiltrate the palace, convince the prince that Azazel’s been hypnotising him, then what? Hope that things work out? And how were you going to convince him in the first place?”

 

Dean bites his lip and doesn’t say anything.

“I think the best course of action would to simply wish for the guy to die,” Gabriel continues. “You have one more wish, then the moose over there will probably want three wishes as well, and then we can all go our separate ways. You two can go enjoy the riches you’ll no doubt ask for, and I’ll go back to my lamp and wait for someone else to release me.” 

His voice is bitter when he says that last part, and Sam frowns.

“Can’t you just, I don’t know, _not_ go back into the lamp?” he asks. Gabriel laughs cruelly.

“That’s not how it works, kid,” he says. “There are certain rules that I have to follow. After I grant the third wish, I get sucked back into the lamp whether I want to or not. And trust me, I never do. The only way for me to be free is for someone to wish it, and who would waste a wish on a genie?”

Gabriel says it nonchalantly, but there’s something in his eyes that makes it obvious he cares a lot more than he makes it seem. Dean doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just settles for patting the genie on the shoulder.

“We’ll wish for you to be free,” he says. Gabriel scoffs, and Dean frowns at his disbelief in them. They’re friends—maybe?—now, after a month, and he’s irritated that Gabriel has so little faith in them. “No, really, we will! The two of us together get six wishes, which is twice as much as anyone else gets. It won’t be a big deal if we use one to free you.”

Gabriel gives him a long, searching look, then smiles. “Thanks for the sentiment,” he says. “But I won’t hold you to that. I’m a genie. It’s my job to grant wishes, not have mine granted.”

Dean doesn’t say anything after that, but he silently vows to wish Gabriel free, no matter what. He locks eyes with Sam over Gabriel’s head, and he can see that his brother is thinking the same exact thing.

… oO()Oo …

He doesn’t know why he thinks this was a good idea, but it’s too late to back out now. He’s sitting cross legged on Carpet just below Castiel’s balcony, dressed in his fanciest prince clothes. The lamp is under his turban and Gabriel is tiny and seated in his pocket. Dean hadn’t wanted him to come, but apparently genies are bound to their lamps and can’t be too far from them for long periods of time, so he didn’t really have a choice.

“Come on, Winchester, you can do this!” he tells himself. Taking a deep breath to brace himself, he guides Carpet up and comes face to face with none other than Castiel himself. He doesn’t know who’s more surprised. 

“John,” Castiel says after a moment, and Dean starts because even after a month, he’s still not used to being called that name.

“Uh, hi,” he says intelligently, then mentally slaps himself, “Are . . . you doing anything?”

Castiel raises an eyebrow. “I was planning on going to sleep soon,” he says, and Dean notices for the first time that he’s wearing nothing but an open vest and a pair of thin white pants. He can’t help but let his gaze linger just a little on the prince’s exposed stomach, and when they finally lock eyes again, they’re both blushing.

“Would you be willing to do something a little bit more fun?” he asks.

“Are you propositioning me?” Castiel asks, eyes narrowed angrily, and Dean’s own eyes widen.

“Oh, God, no,” he says hurriedly. “I just meant, like, a ride on Carpet or something, see the city from the air, go explore the desert, and it’s totally cool if you don’t want to because you need to sleep or whatever, ‘cause that’s totally cool and now I’m rambling so I’m just going to—”

He jerks his thumb behind him and starts drifting backwards, and is unprepared for the way Castiel stretches a hand towards him and says, “Wait!”

They both freeze, and Castiel flushes faintly. “I mean, I would love to go on a carpet ride with you,” he says, sounding embarrassed. Dean tries not to grin too widely as Carpet flies up so that it’s hovering above the balcony. 

Dean offers his hand to Castiel and helps him up, and then there’s a few moments where they shuffle around and try to get comfortable that ends with them sitting with their sides pressed flush together so that they’ll both fit. 

“So,” Dean says, “Where do you want to go?”

“Surprise me,” Castiel says. Dean shrugs and grabs onto Carpet’s two front tassels to steer, and then they’re off. They start off slow since it’s Castiel’s first time flying, but soon enough they’re going so fast that their eyes water and their hair whips around their faces. Castiel’s eyes are wide as he looks around at everything, and Dean can’t even be bothered to watch where they’re going; watching Castiel is more than satisfying for him.

Eventually they stop the show of speed and take to flying lazily over the city.

“It’s amazing,” Castiel says softly. And it really is. The moon bathes everything in a soft white glow and the only sound is the wind whipping through their hair. After a few minutes they fly over the city walls, and Dean lets Carpet take control of where they’re going. At first it’s nothing but desert, but then they reach a huge oasis that looks like it hasn’t even been discovered by other people yet.

Carpet flies them low over the pond and Castiel reaches out and lets his fingers skin over the surface of the water, leaving a v-shaped trail behind them. He laughs when they startle a flock of swans into flight, and Dean just knows that he has heart eyes at this point. 

When they reach the end of the pond, Carpet veers up and Dean and Castiel have to grab onto each other and Carpet in order to not fall off. But the feeling of stomachs dropping is worth it when they end up above a layer of clouds. Dean can’t help but gasp a little at the sight lying before them, and Castiel’s mouth drops.

Above them, surrounding them, is the endless blue-black sky, dotted with thousands of twinkling stars. Below them are the clouds, which look puffy and soft, and glow silver in the moonlight. The air is fresh and crisp, and smells like rain. Like he did with the water, Castiel lets his hand graze across the clouds as they fly over them. 

“This is incredible,” he says softly. 

“It really is,” Dean agrees, “It’s just become my new favorite memory.”

“What the previous one?” Castiel inquires. 

“Watching the sun light up the palace as it set,” Dean says, eyes widening as he catches a glimpse of a shooting star. 

“You’re such an idiot,” Gabriel hisses into his ear. Dean doesn’t realize his mistake until after the words are out of his mouth, but to his relief, Cas is just nodding. They stay out for another hour or so before Carpet takes them back. The night is far from over, however, and so it sets them down on top of the tallest tower on the palace. They sit closer than they needed to, pressed together knee-to-knee, hip-to-hip, and shoulder-to-shoulder.

They watch silently as the moon begins its descent, simply enjoying the silence and each other’s company. 

“Tonight was amazing,” Castiel says after a while, “Thank you.”

Dean shrugs and doesn’t look away from the view of the city. “I’m glad I could show you something you liked.”

“It’s a shame Sam couldn’t be here, though.”

“Sam would’ve been a third wheel and none of us would’ve enjoyed that,” Dean says, then his eyes widen and his heart stops. “Shit.”

“I knew it!” Castiel cries, scooting away from Dean. “You _are_ Dean!” 

“Look, I can explain,” Dean says, reaching out towards Cas, but the prince is having none of that. He stands angrily and paces to the other end of the tower. 

“Explain what?” he demands. “Why you lied to me for a month about who you are? Why you thought I was stupid enough to not notice? Why Azazel told me that you were dead?”

His voice cracks on the last word, and Dean can’t to anything but sit in shocked silence as Cas growls angrily and spins on his heel, putting his back to Dean. 

“Nice going,” Gabriel says. He flits out of wherever he was hiding and lands on Dean’s nose. “This is _totally_ the way to get him to trust you. Idiot.”

He looks to Carpet and jerks his thumb at Dean, and his expression just screams _Can you believe this guy?_ Carpet just shrugs. Dean ignores both of them and stands, walking slowly over to Castiel.

“Cas, listen,” he says softly, “I know what I did was wrong. I should’ve told you the truth, but—”

“But nothing,” Castiel says, facing Dean again. His face is a stoic mask, but his eyes are full of anger and hurt. “You should’ve told me the truth, end of story.”

“You’re right, I know, I just—” Dean breaks off and heaves a great sigh, then looks down at his feet. “I was scared.”

“Of what?” Castiel asks softly.

“Azazel.”

“Azazel?” Castiel repeats disbelievingly, “Why the hell would you be scared of Azazel? What does he even have to do with any of this?”

Dean looks up and studies Castiel for a few seconds, trying to decide whether or not to tell him the truth.

“Because he’s been hypnotising you,” Dean says. 

“ _What?_ ” Castiel exclaims, pushing away from Dean. 

“I know it sounds crazy—”

“That’s an understatement.”

“But it’s the truth. Look, remember a month ago when Sam and I were arrested the day after we first met?”

Castiel looks down and doesn’t say anything.

“I didn’t bring it up because I want you to feel guilty,” Dean says, “I brought it up because I know you would never do something like that. Think back. What exactly happened that made you think it was a good idea to show the guards where we lived?”

“I,” Castiel says, frowning, “I can’t remember.”

“Think hard,” Dean urges. 

Castiel screws his eyes shut and grimaces. “Azazel,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “Azazel was there, and he said”—His eyes snap open, and lift to meet Dean’s. They’re filled with shock—“Oh, my god. Azazel showed me something and then told me that he needed your help with something, and I- I don’t know, I just said yes.”

He’s obviously distraught over this, so Dean reaches out and puts his hands on Castiel’s shoulders. “Hey, calm down,” he says, “It wasn’t your fault. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Azazel has been hypnotising you, and maybe even your father.”

“But why?” Castiel asks.

Dean bites his lip. “Sam and I overheard him talking on the day we were arrested. He wants to overthrow your father and become the sultan.”

Castiel's eyes widen. “I always knew he spent his entire time in the place trying to get more and more power, but I didn't think he would take it this far.”

Dean hums noncommittally. A silence stretches out between them. Castiel doesn't seem to notice; his brows are furrowed and he seems to be lost in thought. 

After a few moments, Dean clears his throat. “So,” he says. Castiel looks up at him and Dean feels a flush spread across his cheeks. “Are you ready to go back to your room? I mean, if you're not, we can stay up here until you are. I don't really care, but I assume you actually want to get some sleep tonight and it's pretty late already and I'm rambling now, sorry.”

Castiel chuckles. “I don't mind rambling,” he says, “but you're right, I am ready to go back.”

Castiel closes his eyes. He looks pained. 

“I can’t believe this,” he says, “My father trusts Azazel with his life, and so do I. Well, so _did_ I.”

“This past month, Sam and I have been trying to think of a way to tell you, but . . . ” Dean shrugs. “It was never a good time, or we couldn’t think of a way. We never meant for it to get this far.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Castiel says sincerely, “If who you’ve been this past month is the real you, then I’m confident you didn’t enjoy all the lying. You seem like a very good person, Dean.”

“Thank you, Castiel,” Dean says. “That . . . means a lot.”

Carpet carries them back down to Castiel’s balcony. The prince leans against the railing and looks at Dean, whose face is only a few inches away from his. 

“Will you help me deal with Azazel?” Castiel asks. 

“Of course,” Dean replies, “We’re friends now, Cas. I wouldn’t leave you to deal with this on your own.”

Castiel’s whole face lights up when he smiles. “Thank you, Dean. And thank you for tonight. I don’t even know a word that can describe how incredible it was.”

“Neither can I. Maybe we can do this again sometime?” Their faces are close enough now that Dean can see each fleck of dark blue in Castiel’s eyes. When did they get so close? He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t particularly care. His eyes flick down to Castiel’s lips when the prince licks them.

“I’d like that.”

 

In the end, it’s not Dean or Castiel who takes the initiative; it’s Carpet. It lifts Dean up suddenly, and the next thing he knows his lips are pressed against Castiel’s. Dean’s eyes close and he tilts his head slightly to deepen the kiss. He can feel Castiel smile against his lips, and it takes him a moment to realize that the prince has pulled away. When he opens his eyes, Castiel is standing in the doorway to his room, smiling in amusement at Dean.

“Goodnight,” he says. The curtains close behind him when he walks into his room, and for a moment all Dean can do is sit there in shock. 

Gabriel flits out of whatever pocket he was hiding in and lands on Dean’s shoulder. “Well,” the genie says. “That certainly was . . . unexpected.”

Carpet makes a few motions with its front tassels.

“No, I am not oblivious,” Gabriel says to it, “It was unexpected because I didn’t expect Dean to grow a pair until this whole thing was already done.”

That snaps Dean out of his stupor.

“Hey,” he says, offended. Carpet begins to drift downwards gently. “I’ll have you know that I’ve always had a pair. I just don’t go flaunting them at anything with pretty eyes like a lot of dudes do.” 

Gabriel hums skeptically and flits back into the lamp.

The wind pushes them into the garden, and Dean lays back on Carpet so that he can look at the sky. He smiles; he can still feel the warm weight of Castiel’s lips against his own. They were soft, slightly chapped, and tasted like peaches. Dean had never shown any preference for the fruit before, but he’s pretty sure that now it’s his favourite.

He sighs and closes his eyes, the smile not leaving his face until he’s grabbed roughly by multiple pairs of hands and dragged onto the ground. His eyes fly open in shock and he tries to struggle, but the guards have a tight grip on his arm and legs and aren’t letting go. A gag is shoved into his mouth and he makes a muffled noise of protest. 

Azazel saunters into his line of sight as the guards start tying his arms and legs together.

“You’ve been a thorn in my side and a boulder in my path for too long, Prince John,” he says, grinning evilly, “or should I say Dean? As the official advisor to the sultan, I declare you guilty of impersonating royalty and lying to the sultan, and sentence you to death.”

Dean’s eyes widen and he stills in shock for a moment. 

Carpet is thrown at his feet, rolled and tied up tightly. One of the guards yanks him up and throws him over his shoulder, and Dean grunts as his stomach digs into the guard’s pauldron. They start moving towards the servants’ entrance of the palace, and when they get there they find Sam in the same position as Dean, with a few more guards watching him.

The brothers lock eyes and Dean tries to convey that he’s okay using just his eyes. He can see Sam doing the same thing. 

 

“Alright,” Azazel says quietly, “you remember where to go?”

The guard that seems to be in charge nods. Azazel sneers one last time at Sam and Dean, then he leaves, his cape swishing loudly in the otherwise quiet night. The guards carry the brothers through the door and to a cart that sits just outside the walls. They’re dumped inside and covered with large bundles of fabric and then a tarp. 

They can’t see anything in the dark, but Dean can vaguely make out a lump that he thinks is Sam. He pulls at the rope binding his hands. It doesn’t give at all, and neither does the one tying his legs together. He can hear Sam shifting and assumes that he too is trying to free himself, but it seems like it’ll all be to no avail. 

He can’t really tell how long they sit in the cart, listening to the sound of a horse’s hooves clip-clopping against stone, but it can’t be more than an hour later that the sound disappears. They continue moving though, and Dean guesses that they’ve left the city and are now going through desert. This part of the journey takes much longer, and the sun is completely risen when they finally stop.

Dean, who had drifted off some time ago, jolts awake and tenses when he hears the driver of the cart get down and start walking towards the back of the cart. The tarp is yanked off and Dean squints in the sudden onslaught of light. The guard doesn’t even make eye contact as he drags them both out of the cart by their arms. 

Dean looks around and realizes that his earlier assumption is correct, they’re in the desert, but it’s not that far from the city. He can still see the tips of the palace’s golden dome roofs in the distance. To their left is a rather large oasis, and it seems to be where the guard is dragging them. Dean doesn’t make the connection at first, but then he sees the large pond in the middle of the oasis and his eyes widen when he understands what’s about to happen. 

He starts struggling, and the guard growls in annoyance.

“Stay still,” he commands, kicking Dean in the ribs hard enough to bruise them. Dean gasps as much as he can through his gag and is stunned enough that the guard manages to drag them right up to the water’s edge without any more problems. He pulls them into the water and for a moment Dean thinks that he’s just going to dump them into the water, which he’s pretty sure he can escape from, but then the guard goes back to the cart and pulls two sets of chains from one of the bundles of fabric.

Dean’s heart sinks. At the end of each chain is a large metal ball, and there’s no way they’ll be able to escape from that. The guard clips the chains onto their legs, then commences dragging them into the water. It gets to the point where even the guard, who’s taller than both Sam and Dean, has to tread water to keep his head in the air, and that’s when he finally lets go of them.

They sink immediately to the bottom, and the balls slide against the sandy slope until they’re practically in the middle of the pond and the surface is completely out of sight. Dean and Sam start struggling anew, but with every passing moment their movements grow more jerky and less controlled. Dean’s vision starts to blur, then go dark. He feels something heavy slip out of his pocket and into his hands— _the lamp_ —and he has enough presence of mind to run his finger over its side just before everything goes black.

 

His awakening is abrupt, painful, and the first thing Dean does is roll onto his side so that he doesn’t throw up all over himself. Gritty water rushes up his throat and out of his mouth, and even after it’s all gone he retches painfully for a few moments. Eventually he coughs and, breathing raggedly through a throat that feels like it’s on fire, drags himself away from the puddle of water so that he can flop onto relatively clean ground.

He closes his eyes and shivers. He’s soaked and sitting in the shade, and all he wants is to go find a place in the sun to dry but he doesn’t even have the energy to move right now.

“Dean, stay awake,” a familiar voice commands.

Dean struggles to open his eyes. Things are blurry, but he can make out a fuzzy gold shape hovering above him. Slowly, Gabriel comes into focus, and Dean wants to say that worried isn’t a good look for him, but all that comes out of his mouth is a groan of pain. 

“I know, I know, but you can’t go to sleep yet.” Gabriel gently pulls Dean into a sitting position and leans him against a tree and then hurries over to Sam, who is on his hands and knees, throwing up what looks to be gallons of water. He rubs his hand up and down Sam’s back soothingly, and it looks like he’s saying something too. But it’s too quiet for Dean to make out.

“Sam,” Dean tries to say, but it sounds more like a croak. 

Gabriel must know what he means, anyway. “He’s fine,” the genie says. “Well, he’s about as fine as you are.”

Sam finally gives a rough, hacking cough and his arms and legs give out. Gabriel catches him before he can faceplant in his own vomit and carefully drags him over to where Dean is. The brothers lean against each other, ignoring the discomfort of their still dripping wet clothes. Sam is panting too hard to speak and Dean’s too tired, but through nudges and meaningful looks they manage to discern that they’re both relatively alright. 

Gabriel crouches down in front of them, his brow furrowed. He raises a hand and snaps, and all of a sudden Sam and Dean are dry and no longer shivering, but still exhausted. 

“Look, I don’t have much time,” Gabriel says urgently, “I’m going to be pulled back into the lamp any second, so Sam has to rub it to get me back out. And hurry, I can’t have you two falling asleep out here alone.”

While he’s talking, the lamp, which is sitting only a foot or two away, starts to glow. Gabriel does too, and begins moving backwards like something’s dragging him. He’s obviously fighting it, but when he finishes talking he just gives them a sad little wave, shoots a resigned look at the lamp, then stops resisting. Almost instantly he’s sucked back in. The lamp shakes a little, but once all of Gabriel is inside it sits still and stops glowing, and looks for all the world like an ordinary oil lamp. 

“Let’s wait a few minutes,” Dean says, his voice raspy still, “I’m too tired to go get it.”

“Okay,” Sam agrees. He sounds breathless still, but he’s not panting anymore. His voice is just as wrecked as Dean’s is. For a few minutes they simply sit there with their eyes closed. Not going to sleep, of course, because they’re not stupid enough to do that in the middle of the desert with the lamp out in plain sight, especially not when anyone could come across them at any moment. 

When Dean feels up to it, he scoots over to the lamp and grabs it, then brings it back to Sam. The latter rubs his palm over the lamp a few times, and Gabriel reappears, with much less pomp than he’d used last time. He looks irritated.

“What took so long?” he asks. 

Dean’s too tired to get into an argument right now, so he just shrugs. 

Gabriel exhales heavily. “Whatever. Let’s just get you two back home. You’ll have to wish it, unfortunately for you.”

“I wish we were back at the palace,” Sam says; his exhaustion is clear in his voice. 

Gabriel snaps his fingers and the sand underneath them starts shifting and solidifying. A few seconds later, Sam and Dean are seated on a replica of Carpet that’s made of sand. Gabriel settles next to them and the sand carpet takes off. 

It takes them a good two hours to get back to the city. Sam and Dean sleep for most of it, and only wake up when Gabriel nudges them. They find themselves back in their guest room at the palace. How Gabriel got them there without anyone seeing them, Dean doesn’t know, and he doesn’t particularly care. 

He and Sam stay awake long enough to change out of their gritty, dirty clothes and into clean ones, and then they fall face first onto their beds. Dean’s asleep before his head even hits the pillow.

… oO()Oo … 

The look of shock on Azazel’s face when he walks in to breakfast the next morning and finds Dean and Sam sitting at the table, nonchalantly sipping at their water, is priceless, and Dean wishes he had some way that he could imprint it into his mind permanently. 

Dean told Castiel about what Azazel had tried to do before breakfast, and Castiel in turn helped them convince Chuck of his advisor’s treachery. That had taken a while, and it was Castiel’s insistence and conviction that eventually swayed the sultan in their favour. 

Chuck had agreed to arrest Azazel and have him tried for treason, then they’d sat down to eat and wait for the man in question to arrive. 

Azazel doesn’t seem to know what to do, and for a second his expression flits from shock to anger to fear and back again, but then he schools his face into a polite mask.

“Good morning,” he says, “Sleep well?”

Dean snorts. Chuck finishes the last of whatever he’d been drinking and then stands up. He’s shorter than Azazel, but he walks right up into the man’s personal space; it reminds Dean of a kitten trying to intimidate a large hunting dog. 

“Don’t play dumb,” Chuck says, “You might as well confess now and save yourself from the interrogation process.”

Azazel pulls his dagger out and, before the sultan can move away, points the hilt at his face. Chuck’s brows furrow as the gems that make up the tiger’s eyes begin to glow.

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Azazel says, his voice smooth and oily, “They’re lying.”

“Father!” Castiel exclaims. 

Dean sprints to Azazel’s side and practically tackles him trying to get the dagger. He succeeds and wastes no time in smashing the hilt under his shoe. The haze that previously clouded Chuck’s face disappears and he turns angry eyes to Azazel, who finally realizes the gravity of the situation and starts backing up towards the door as Chuck, Castiel, Sam, and Dean all stalk towards him angrily.

“Traitor!” Castiel hisses angrily, even as Chuck calls for the guards that are stationed outside the dining hall. 

The guards rush in and grab Azazel’s arms. Azazel stares hatefully at Dean, then his gaze moves down to where his turban hangs at his hip. Azazel’s lip curls in disgust and, before anyone can stop him, he throws a vial at his feet. 

Bright red smoke pours out of it when it smashes, and by the time it clears Azazel is gone.

“Find him and arrest him,” Chuck orders. The guards bow and rush out, and Chuck makes an angry noise and starts pacing the length of the room, muttering to himself the whole time. 

Castiel moves to Dean’s side. “We did it,” he says quietly, his blue eyes shining with happiness. 

“Yup,” Dean agrees, “All that’s left to do now is to wait for the guards to catch up to him. It might take a while,” he says, thinking back to the days when he’d successfully dodge the guards almost every day, “but he can’t hide forever.”

They smile at each other then, and the air practically sparks with memories of the kiss they’d shared only last night. 

Chuck chooses that moment to walk between them, and the moment is effectively shattered. But Chuck notices it anyway, and stops in his tracks. He eyes the (practically nonexistent) space between Dean and Castiel with interest. “Is there something you want to tell to me, Castiel?” he says slyly. 

Both Castiel and Dean blush, and the latter shoots a glare at his brother, who’s laughing silently behind the sultan. 

“Father,” Castiel complains. The _stop it, you’re embarrassing me_ goes unsaid. 

“Um, sir,” Dean says, drawing Chuck’s attention. “I’d like to ask you for your permission to court Castiel.”

Castiel chokes on air, Sam chokes on laughter, and Dean practically chokes on his embarrassment. This isn’t how he imagined this scene going down in his head, but it’s too late now to take it back without seeming like a total douchebag, so he just silently stews in his own discomfort. 

“Oh,” Chuck says, surprised, “Yeah, totally. Castiel will have to have an heir by a woman someday, of course, but sure.”

“Cool, thanks,” Dean says, then inwardly winces at how informal that sounded. But no one else seems to mind, so Dean forgets about it. Castiel gives him an ecstatic grin, which Dean eagerly returns.

“This is perfect,” Chuck continues, “Castiel will be fulfilling his obligation to the law, and one day you two will be the sultans. I don’t think there have ever been two sultans at a time before, so that’ll be interesting to see.”

Chuck continues talking, but Dean stops listening. It had never even occurred to him that both he and Castiel could be sultan at the same time. He’d assumed that Castiel would become sultan and he’d be an advisor if he was lucky, but sultan? He’s just a street rat who’d lied his way into the palace and meddled in affairs that really had nothing to do with him. He has no right to be sultan, but to back out now would probably piss Chuck off and break Castiel’s heart, and he absolutely does not want to do that. 

How does he get himself into these situations?

… oO()Oo … 

“Hey, Sammy?” he says later when he and his brother are relaxing in their room. 

Sam hums to let Dean know that he’s listening. 

“You know how Chuck said that I’d be, like, Castiel’s co-sultan or whatever?”

“Mmhmm,” Sam hums again. He doesn’t look up from the book he’s reading.

“Well, what if I . . . didn’t want to be sultan?” 

Sam finally looks up, and he gives Dean an incredulous look. 

“Why wouldn’t you want to be sultan?” Sam asks. 

Carpet looks up from where it’s draped over a chair (they found it locked in a storage room the morning after they’d gotten back from their little swim, and it had been beyond pissed when they’d released it). Even it seems to be giving Dean a shocked look, which doesn’t seem possible given that it doesn’t have a face.

“I don’t know, I just . . . it feels wrong,” Dean mumbles, “We came here to expose Azazel, and we did, so. . . . ”

“Yes, but we also came so that you could woo Castiel, or whatever,” Sam says, “and being sultan is part of that.” He frowns suddenly. “Is this guilt?”

Dean shrugs helplessly and Sam lets out a sigh. 

“Dean, don’t,” he says, “Why do you feel guilty?”

“We got in here because we lied,” Dean says, “This whole thing is based on lies and dishonesty, and I hate it.”

“Castiel knows the truth,” Sam says, “and it’s most important that he knows, right?”

“But Castiel is the only one that knows. What about the sultan? Don’t you think he deserves to know who he’s trusting his entire sultanate to? Or, speaking of, what about the people? Someone is bound to recognize us and expose us.”

Sam swears. “I didn’t even think of that. That’s not a problem, though; I still have two wishes left. We can use one to make sure that that’ll never happen, and the other one to free Gabriel.”

“Good idea,” Dean says, “Let’s do it now and get it out of the way.”

Sam rubs the lamp, which was sitting on the bed next to him, and Gabriel appears, looking irritated. 

“What do you bozos need now?” he says, “I was in the middle of a movie and it was just getting good.”

“What’s a movie?” Dean asks curiously. 

Gabriel makes a face, the kind that Dean himself often made after saying something that he shouldn’t have.

“Nevermind,” Gabriel says, “Is there a wish I can help you with?”

“As a matter of fact, there is,” Sam says, “Gabriel, I wish that everyone, except for Castiel, will forget that we were ever living on the streets.” 

Gabriel snaps his fingers. “Done,” he says. “One wish left.” He moves towards the lamp, but hesitates and looks like he wants to say something. Dean looks at him expectantly, but he shakes his head and the flicker of vulnerability that Dean had seen in his face is gone. “If you’ll excuse me, there’s a big screen calling my name.”

And with that, he flies back into the lamp, leaving Sam and Dean alone. The brothers look at each other with raised eyebrows. 

“What do you think he wanted to say?” Dean asks. 

“Probably just wanted to ask if we were going to use our last wish to free him,” Sam replies. “We are going to free him still, right?”

“Of course,” Dean says, waving a dismissive hand. “We don't need anything else, so there's no reason to use the wish for anything else.”

Sam seems satisfied with this answer and goes back to his book, and Dean goes back to staring at the ceiling. 

The guilt is still there, but it's easier to ignore now that he knows he won't get exposed. He closes his eyes and relaxes fully, and he's almost drifted off into a light doze when he hears his name being called from outside.

“Sounds like Cas is calling you,” Sam says without looking up from his book. 

“John, meet me in the garden,” Cas calls again, “and bring Robert with you. It's important.”

Dean hauls himself off of his bed with a quiet groan and he stretches for a moment. 

“Let's go see what he wants,” he says. 

Sam closes his book and follows him out. Castiel isn't anywhere in sight, which is odd considering how close his voice sounded. Dean frowns, but doesn't say anything. It's a short walk to the garden, only a few minutes. When they get there, Castiel isn't there, and Dean’s feeling of unease increases. 

“Sam,” Dean says slowly, “are you getting a bad feeling from all this?”

“Yup,” Sam replies. 

“Why wouldn't Castiel call us by our real names?”

“To keep up appearances? He probably didn't want anyone to get suspicious.”

“He doesn’t have that much sense,” Dean lo—likes Castiel a lot, and he means this in the nicest way possible. It's sad, but true, “I don't think that was Castiel.”

“Dean, why would someone lure us out of our rooms?”

They look at each other and come to the same conclusion at the same time.

“The lamp!” they hiss in unison, and then they turn tail and sprint all the way back to their room. The lamp was wedged in the center of a large pile of pillows, impossible to see unless you were close enough. 

When they get there, it's gone. 

“Oh, fuck me,” Dean says. 

 

Gabriel may have phenomenal, nearly unlimited cosmic powers, but he can’t do everything. Hence the “nearly unlimited” in his job description. One thing he can do, however, is tell when different people rub his lamp. 

So the next time he’s summoned, mere minutes after Sam and Dean made their fifth wish (and that’s a whole ‘nother can of worms that he hasn't been thinking about for too long because it makes him either incredibly pissed or incredibly proud), he can tell instantly that it's not either of the brothers. 

The person whose hand is on his lamp now is filthy, and Gabriel doesn't mean that literally, though the person is probably disgusting to look at as well. No, he's filthy of spirit and of soul. He's tainted with so much evil that Gabriel’s surprised his magic responds to him. 

The purpose of genies is to bring a little bit of hope and happiness to this cruel world, and not to increase the amount of evil infesting it. For this reason alone, genies cannot be summoned by those who are truly evil. 

That being said, this man has magic, and while it's not nearly as powerful as Gabriel’s own, it's more than enough to force the lamp to force Gabriel to reveal himself. 

And it's worrying, to say the least. 

He pulls out all the stops when appearing this time; the ground shakes violently, thunder and lightning war for dominance in the sky, lights flicker out, the very air is electrified with magic, all in the hope of intimidating the man who had summoned him.

But all it seems to do is make him excited. He stands tall and proud in front of Gabriel, who makes sure that his face is cloaked in shadow, and that his form is large and impressive. 

He doesn't say anything when he's finally fully formed, but the sorcerer doesn't seem to care. 

“Hello, genie,” he says pleasantly. When Gabriel doesn't say anything, he tips his head to the side. “What, aren't you going to greet your new master?”

“What did you do to Sam and Dean?” Gabriel demands. 

The man simply laughs. “Oh, I didn't do anything to them,” he says. “At least, I haven't yet.”

Gabriel bristles at this, but he can't do anything to harm the wielder of his lamp. He's grown fond of Sam and Dean, and though he'll never admit it under pain of death (he can't die, which is a bonus) he genuinely cares for them. He's terrified of what he'll be forced to do by this sorcerer, of the havoc that he'll be forced to wreak. 

He looks into the man’s eyes (yellow, full of hate and malicious promise) and he is, for the first time in centuries, afraid. 

 

Sam and Dean are pacing around the garden when the storm clouds start to gather. The ground shakes, thunder and lightning war for dominance in the sky, and they recognize it instantly for what it is: Gabriel's magic. 

“Someone found Gabriel,” Sam gasps. 

“Someone stole Gabriel,” Dean corrects, “How much do you want to bet that it's that creep Azazel?”

The clouds seemed to be gathering above one of the towers of the palace. 

“We need to get up there,” Sam says. Dean puts his fingers to his mouth and whistles as loud as he can, and not even two seconds later Carpet is there. It sweeps both Sam and Dean off their feet and starts flying them towards the window at the top of the tower. 

“Dean!” they hear when they're about halfway there, and Dean looks down to see Castiel running towards the palace. He must have been on the grounds somewhere. Without prompting, Carpet swoops down enough for Dean to grab Castiel’s hand and pull him onto it. 

“What's going on?” the prince asks. 

“Short version, someone found a genie and is using his power, and we think it's Azazel,” Sam says. 

“And the long version?”

“Uh, we’ll get back to you on that one,” Dean says. They finally reach the top of the tower just as it explodes outward. Carpet has to duck and twist and flip to avoid the flying pieces of rock, and when the dust settles Sam, Dean, and Castiel can see both Azazel and Chuck standing there. 

The former is wearing the clothes that Chuck had been wearing the last time Dean had seen him, and Chuck is clothed in only a plain white shirt and brown pants. He's on his back on the floor, and Azazel is standing over him, smiling like the cat that just caught the canary. To Chuck’s credit, he looks like a very unimpressed canary. He probably thinks he's drunk dreaming again or something. 

“Bow to your new sultan!” Azazel demands. 

“We will never bow to you,” Castiel snarls. 

Azazel lets out a sharp bark of a laugh as the palace starts to shake again. Dean looks up and gasps; standing behind the palace is Gabriel, only he's _freaking enormous_ and much more intimidating than Dean’s ever seen him.

Instead of its usual golden shine his skin is muted and dull, and his eyes glow red with power. Sam practically ejects Dean and Castiel off of Carpet, then flies up to the genie’s face. Dean turns to his attention to Azazel while Sam no doubt tries to reason with Gabriel. 

The palace shifts and for a moment everyone works on simply not falling over as Gabriel lifts the entire building and sets it way apart from the city. 

“Bow!” Azazel demands again. 

“No thanks, dude,” Dean says, “We're good.”

“Well, if you won't bow to a sultan, then you'll cower before a sorcerer. Genie!” Dean narrows his eyes as Gabriel turns to Azazel expectantly. “I wish to be the most powerful sorcerer in the world!”

“Gabe, don’t!” Sam cries, but there's nothing any of them—even Gabriel—can do, even Dean knows this. As long as Azazel has the lamp Gabriel will be powerless to do anything but obey. 

Gabriel snaps his fingers and Azazel’s clothes are promptly replaced with his usual flowing cape and robe. A long golden staff appears in his hand and the top of it is an exact replica of the tiger’s head from Azazel’s dagger. 

He aims it at Dean, Castiel, and Chuck, who are all forced to kneel under the weight of the magic. 

“Well, isn't this nice?” Azazel purrs. 

At this point, Chuck seems to realize that this is, in fact, real, and his eyes widen as his face pales. 

“You traitor!” he hisses angrily, but his eyes convey extreme worry and fear. 

Azazel raises a single eyebrow. He smirks at something behind them, and Dean doesn't even have time to turn around before he lifts his staff and shoots a stream of red energy at something in the sky. 

Dean hears a resigned “fuck my life” before two hundred and ten pounds of Sam straight up creams him, knocking them both to the ground. They lay winded for a moment, which is just enough time for Azazel to lift them off the floor with magic. 

“Thank you ever so much for the lamp,” he says. “But I'm afraid that since you've served your original purpose, there's really no reason for me to keep you around.”

He tosses them into another tower, then flicks his staff. The tower starts to rumble and shake, then it launches itself into the air so fast that Sam and Dean are pressed against the floor. For a while, they don't know what's going on or what's happening outside the tower. 

Then, with a huge, jarring impact, the tower crash lands. It rolls for a few seconds, but it eventually stops with the window facing outwards. They're still in the desert, which is good for them. Unless they're in a desert on, like, the other side of the world.

Dean leads the way outside and looks up. He can see a trail of smoke in the sky from the tower’s flight. 

“We have to get back,” Sam says as he climbs out of the window. 

“That's our trail, and it'll lead us back to the city if we follow it.”

Sam nods, “Let's go, then.”

They start walking, knowing that it'll take them hours to get back home at the least, considering the fact that none of the towers of the palace are visible. 

They've been walking for not even twenty minutes when they see something small approaching them in the sky. Sam notices it first, who points it out to Dean, who recognizes it once it gets a little closer. 

“Carpet!”

“What's Carpet doing all the way out here?” Sam asks. 

“Looking for us?” Dean suggests as he starts waving his arms above his head to grab Carpet’s attention. 

It circles down to where they are and nearly bowls them over with a hug. 

“We're glad to see you, too, buddy,” Sam says, chuckling at Carpet’s enthusiasm. “We need to get back to the city as soon as possible. Can you help us?”

Carpet nods vigorously and does an excited little backflip in the air, and then holds still long enough to let Sam and Dean climb on. As soon as they're seated properly, Carpet takes off into the air so fast that the brothers nearly topple off of it. 

It takes them a long time to get back—a few hours at least—and Dean is a bundle of nerves the entire time. A few hours is more than enough time for Azazel to completely destroy everything, and Dean is honestly afraid of what he'll find when he gets back. 

 

To say that he's furious would be a vast understatement. He’s beyond pissed, so angry that he's practically shut down and has become the cold, distant genie that Azazel ordered him to be. He watches as Azazel locks Chuck in a birdcage that he hangs above his throne, and chains Castiel’s hands together and makes him a slave, forcing him to fetch him food and drink and whatever else he wants. 

And Gabriel’s powerless to do anything. 

It's been hours since Sam and Dean were shot into the sky. Gabriel has no idea where they are, or if they're even alive. He's tied to the lamp, meaning he can't be too far from it without getting sucked back inside, and Azazel knows this. He placed the lamp on a corner of the throne room, and Gabriel can't go anywhere lest he be trapped again. 

He can see everything that's happening in the room though, which is why he notices Sam and Dean sneaking in through a window behind Azazel’s chair. The sorcerer himself doesn't notice, too absorbed in slapping Castiel across the face for making his food too hot. 

Gabriel feels bad about that—at least, some distant part of him does—but he's mostly overwhelmed with relief, relief that Sam and Dean are alive, that they have help (he really loves Carpet sometimes), and that they're here. 

Outwardly, he makes no move to indicate that he saw anything, just continues pacing around in his cage without bars. Carpet silently, slowly, lowers the brothers down to the floor, and they take a second to assess the situation. 

They notice him immediately, and Gabriel can practically see the second Sam thinks of a plan. They whisper furiously to each other for a second, then they split up. Sam starts creeping towards Gabriel while Dean runs up to Azazel.

He tackles the sorcerer to the ground, and Gabriel snorts. Typical Winchester. 

 

Dean doesn't think that tackling Azazel was what Sam had in mind when he said to distract him, but Dean doesn't really care. He'd seen Azazel slap Cas, and he's furious. Azazel’s body has a very satisfying give when he rams into him, and Dean smirks as he pushes himself off of the sorcerer and moves to stand in front of Castiel. 

“Dean!” the prince says, relief evident in his voice. 

Dean smiles at him, but keeps most of his attention on Azazel. The man takes longer to recover from the hit than Dean did, but when he gets up it’s with a smirk on his face. 

“Hello, Dean,” he says pleasantly, “I must say, I'm surprised to see you here alive.”

“Yeah, well, I'm pretty hard to kill,” Dean says harshly. 

“Yes. Like a cockroach.” 

Dean looks offended. “That was uncalled for,” he says. His eyes flick over to check on Sam’s progress for just a second, but Azazel catches the movement. Without turning around he flings his arm out. The lamp flies into his palm, with Gabriel being pulled along a second later. 

The genie looks much less intimidating than he did the last time Dean saw him. His skin and eyes are back to their normal golden glow, he's human sized again, and he looks extremely worried. He gives Dean a wide-eyed look. 

“Genie, back in your lamp,” Azazel orders, and Gabriel’s jaw tenses. 

“Yes, master,” he says, and his voice is so full of hate and resignation that it makes Dean cringe. Gabriel is gone in the next second, and Azazel stows the lamp in one of the pockets in his robe. Sam comes up to stand at Dean’s side, and they both glare at Azazel. Their whole plan had revolved around getting the lamp and using their last wish to stop Azazel—or kill him, preferably—but now they can do nothing but react to whatever he throws at them. 

“Still going to try and stop me?” Azazel coos mockingly. He waves his hand and Dean feels Castiel’s warmth vanish from at his back. He whips around in time to see the prince thrown into a giant cage, which is then suspended on the ceiling next to the sultan’s. 

Dean turns back to Azazel, only to backpedal furiously as dozens of swords materialize out of nowhere and implant themselves into the ground right where he'd been standing. 

Azazel cackles as both Sam and Dean pull blades out of the ground and rush at him. But they're once again stopped, this time by a ring of fire that flares to life around them. 

The ring gets slowly smaller and smaller, and soon Sam and Dean are back to back, looking for a way out. 

“Foolish worms,” Azazel says. “You thought you could defeat the most powerful being in the world?”

Sam stiffens almost imperceptibly next to him. “But you're not the most powerful,” he says slyly. “A genie has much more power than you'll ever have.”

“What?” Azazel hisses angrily. His eyes narrow as he realizes that Sam’s right. Dean looks at his brother, but Sam just smiles slightly and makes a wait gesture. The flames abruptly stop their progress as Azazel becomes busy with pulling out the lamp and summoning Gabriel. 

“What is your wish?” Gabriel asks dryly, glaring at Azazel. 

“I wish to be the most powerful genie in the world!” Azazel declares. 

Gabriel’s eyebrow shoots up. “Um, your wish is my command,” he says, snapping his fingers. 

Azazel cackles madly as the transformation takes place. His skin turns black and his eyes glow bright yellow, and he grows enormous, bigger than Gabriel ever presented himself as. 

The sky turns black with clouds and Azazel looks down on Sam, Dean, and Gabriel. He lifts a hand and looks like he's about to snap, but his arm jerks as a heavy gold cuff locks into place around his wrist, and then another on the other one. 

“What is this?” he shouts in outrage. A silver lamp materializes and Azazel’s eyes grow wide as he starts to get sucked into it. “No! I refuse to be beaten by the likes of you!”

Dean shrugs. 

In a few seconds, there's no trace of Azazel other than the silver lamp, which sits innocently on the floor. 

“Well,” Gabriel says. “That was. . . . ”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees.

“Hey, um, are you going to get us down?” Chuck calls from his cage.

“Oh, shit. Forgot about them. Yeah, just hold on a sec, Your Majesty!”

Dean turns to Gabriel with an apologetic grimace on his face, which Gabriel answers with a sad smile. 

“Go ahead,” the genie says softly, “I didn't have very high hopes anyway.”

Dean frowns, but there's nothing he can say to that. 

Sam looks like he's racking his brains for a solution, but he eventually slumps his shoulders and lets put a long exhale. “I wish to undo all the damage Azazel did,” he says. 

Gabriel snaps his fingers. 

 

Gabriel snaps his fingers, and he sighs as he feels the magic inside him explode in a quick burst. He blinks and everything is back to normal. The palace is where is should be, Chuck and Castiel are back on the ground, and the tower that was ripped off of the palace is back in place. 

Gabriel only has a few moments until he's pulled back into his lamp, so be gives a jaunty wave and a smirk to the humans. 

“It's been real, mortals,” he says. 

Sam opens his mouth and starts to say something, but before he can get it out the lamp glows and Gabriel’s tail is pulled into it. Then comes the uncomfortable sucking feeling, and he’s gone before he can even say a proper goodbye. 

He sighs (not really, because he doesn't have a body while in the lamp and is little more than magic and a consciousness, but the sentiment is the same) and prepares for a long stasis. 

He's not prepared for someone to rub his lamp not even two minutes later. 

He flies out without any pomp this time, simply smoking out and forming his body. There's a scowl on his face and a scathing comment on the tip of his tongue, but both die away when he comes face to face with a pair of bright blue eyes. 

 

Castiel had heard everything. That whole scene with the genie (and that's something that he'll berate Dean about later, because really? A genie?) had interested him to no end. When he's released he hugs Sam, presses a kiss to Dean’s lips, makes sure that his father is unharmed, but his eyes keep straying to the lamp. 

Dean notices his gaze, answers his questions, and then doesn't object when he picks the lamp up and rubs it. Gabriel appears quickly and with little fanfare, and there's a vicious scowl on his face. It drops when he sees Castiel, and a confused expression flits across his face, only to be swallowed up by an irritated one a second later. 

“I’m fine with not being free, but that doesn't mean I want to be used by you guys for the rest of your lives,” he says angrily, and Castiel doesn't give anyone else a chance to respond. 

“I wish you were free,” he says quickly, and Gabriel looks to him, shocked. 

His hand lifts and he snaps his fingers, seemingly without conscious thought because he looks like his brain has short-circuited from the shock. 

But then the golden shackles on his wrists unlock and fall away, and he snaps out of his stupor. He lifts his other hand and rubs at his wrist. 

“I'm free,” he says quietly, almost to himself. Then his eyes lock onto Castiel’s and a huge grin splits his face. “I'm finally free! I can’t believe it! Thank you so much!”

“No need to thank me,” Castiel says. There's a smile on his face; Gabriel’s jubilation is contagious. 

Gabriel laughs and even Dean has a smile on his face. 

“What are you going to do now?” he asks. 

“I'm going to see the world,” Gabriel replies. Stars practically dance in his eyes. “I've always wanted to travel.”

“Oh, me, too,” Sam says. 

“Wanna come with?” Gabriel asks him, and Sam’s eyes widen. 

“Seriously?”

“Of course. I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it.”

“Whoa, hold on a minute,” Dean interjects, looking worried, “You can't just take him and run off to who knows where.”

“Dean, I'll be fine,” Sam says, sounding exasperated. 

“Yeah, I still have all of my awesome powers, so he'll be completely safe,” Gabriel says. 

“Dean, let him go,” Castiel says, sidling up to Dean, “I'm sure they'll be perfectly fine.”

“We’ll come for a visit every week,” Gabriel adds, and Dean finally relents. 

“Fine. Every week, and if I see so much as a hair out of place I’m going to castrate you.”

“But I thought you wanted me to get a haircut,” Sam teases. 

“Shut up, bitch,” Dean grumbles, pulling Sam into a hug.

“Jerk,” Sam replies. He squeezes Dean one more time and then pulls away. 

Gabriel gently takes Sam’s wrist, waves, and then they're gone. 

Dean lets out a big breath. 

“They'll be fine,” Castiel reassures him. 

“I know,” Dean says. He doesn't seem convinced, so Castiel reaches up and presses a sweet kiss to his lips. It successfully distracts him, and Castiel considers it a win.

**Author's Note:**

> So, what did you guys think? Let me know in the comments, please; I really love hearing from you guys! Also, I'm currently working on the sequel for Bad Moon Rising, but I think that after this, I'm going to be posting a multi-chaptered Sabriel and Destiel Frozen AU which will be called Prince of Ice, so keep an eye out for both of those.
> 
> Oh, and if y'all see any mistakes in grammar, spelling, etc. let me know in the comments, 'kay?
> 
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
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